Love's Labors Lost

Gestating the writing process

2012-02-10T11:08:00.001-05:00

The piece I'm gestating now has taught me that I don't write plays so much as give birth to them. And it frustrates me to no end. I am creatively bloated and sluggish, laden down with the play that's growing inside me, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it besides feed it and wait. I have nearly no say in what comes out, no input as to when it will happen. I only feel the stirrings in the murky darkness of the metaphorical womb. It frightens me a bit.

It's eerie just how embodied my process is, how closely it parallels the cycles of my body. Most of the stuff I write, fertilized as it is, never takes root and gets ejected from my system like so much menstrual blood. The plays that take hold, the ones that eventually become my children made of words, often have difficult births. There is always pain because I am pushing out a truth I am not big enough to express, threatening to split me in two. With every piece, there is the fear that this is the one that will finally kill me. Yet once I'm in labor, I cannot desist. It must come out, even if I die afterwards.

And when it's over, I hold my baby of paper and pixels. Did I do this? Did this come from me? It can't be. It's wrinkly and slimy and more precious than anything in the world. I clean it off, make it look somewhat more human. I let it feed off my dreams and memories. I watch it grow.

Tulpa, or Anne&Me is a lively toddler now, having taken its first steps last year and progressed to running around. I am amazed by it even as I fear for its future, for the world I brought it into.

Pregnant again, I am waiting for the new piece to take shape, to tell me its name. I had my own ideas, but the play inside me rejected them. I remind myself to let go of trying to control it. Just feed it and wait. I am always hungry, and my cravings are strange.

I envy those with the gift of clarity. What is it like to create something as an act of will? What is it like to choose what comes out of you? To have a say in what and when and how? What is it like?

Know a director? "Tulpa" needs one!

2012-01-19T00:30:00.000-05:00

I wrote a play called TULPA, OR ANNE&ME that debuted at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity in June 2011. I would like to do it again for 2012, and I'm putting together the team I want to work with.

Part whimsical fantasy, part social commentary, part gothic horror, TULPA, OR ANNE&ME tells the story of a withdrawn artist whose life gets turned upside down when Anne Hathaway crawls out of her television. With the help of her powerful imagination and two outspoken Guardian Angels of Blackness, she and Anne struggle to find a way to connect to one another. What unfolds is an intimate portrait of a relationship that asks us how race impacts what two people can truly be to each other.

This play needs a DIRECTOR who can . . .

apply anti-racist principles and practices to all aspects of production
create an amazing theatrical experience with limited tech and budget
respect the playwright's voice and vision
collaborate with the playwright to select cast and crew
schedule and attend all rehearsals
maintain a healthy working environment

Although education and experience are definitely helpful, what matters most is your passion, vision, and commitment - and, of course, how easy you are to work with.

When looking over candidates, what I am trying to figure out is: What makes this person particularly qualified to assume a leadership role in a theatre project where the experience of being a gay African American woman is a big part of its meaning?

Because of the play's subject matter and my personal interest in giving opportunities to underrepresented theatre artists, LGBTQ people of color are strongly encouraged to reach out.

I am seeking to make my final selection by February 1. Please send all inquiries and supporting materials (if any) to: Shawn C. Harris (writer and producer) at whoisyourtulpa[at]gmail[dot]com.

For more information about the journey of TULPA, OR ANNE&ME, see http://indiegogo.com/tulpa2012.

"Tulpa, or Anne&Me" fundraising campaign ends TODAY

2012-01-12T14:01:00.001-05:00

On January 12 at 11:59pm EST, the IndieGoGo campaign for my play, Tulpa, or Anne&Me is ending. Although people have supported the project by contributing a total of about $1,700, there is still $1,300 to go.

Let’s break this down mathematically. If only 130 readers each donate just $10 TODAY, Tulpa, or Anne&Me will reach its fundraising goal.

With so many conversations going on about who gets to tell stories about people of color, the importance of things like “Shit White Girls Say … To Black Girls,” the release of George Lucas’ Red Tails, and otherwise being an ally supporting voices of color in arts and entertainment, your contribution sends a message that it matters to you that these find their way on stage and screen, that it matters who tells these stories, that it matters who benefits from these stories, and that it matters who gets to witness these stories.

Tell the world that it matters to you. Take a couple of moments to say so now.

P.S. If you are sick and tired of first-person shooters starring square-jawed White dudes, you should check out and support the Arkh Project too.

2012: The year of Black people as subjects

2012-01-06T13:20:00.001-05:00

Kicking off 2012 on the racism front, we have this video, "Shit White Girls Say . . . to Black Girls"

And then we have this post at A Poor Player, which prompted 99Seats to write "Shit White Theatremakers Say" (and then "More Shit White Theatremakers Say" in response to Scott's comment on the original post and in 99Seats' follow-up).

I'm not going to weigh in on that particular discussion because, frankly, I'm tired of it. I can't even work up the energy to get pissed off. But, I can say that it has been my experience that when I told Black people outside of theatre that I'm a playwright, several Black people piped up and told me that they used to enjoy participating in theatre but got out of it because it's so racist.

What I am going to mention, which the video and the blog posts at A Poor Player and by 99Seats exemplify, is a trend I noticed in 2011 that I'm hoping will be over for 2012. For lack of a better term, I'm going to call it Black People* As Objects. To be more precise, I'm talking about Black people as objects of ridicule, scorn, fear, study, charity, validation, and so on. From that ridiculous article in Psychology Today about Black women being "objectively" less attractive than women of other races to pretty much anything that comes from the mouth of a GOP candidate about Black folks, it seems that a lot of people who are not Black have a lot to say about what the lives and actions of Black people are supposed to mean. Essentially attempting to probe and prod us like lab animals. Which could almost not be racist if said individuals, I dunno, bothered to actually have a conversation with Black people (as in Black persons, not Black People (TM)) where they sought to truly understand and relate to us as persons and not as objects or symbols.

I don't put a lot of stock into new year's resolutions, but if I were to make one for myself, I'd say that 2012 is the Year of Black People as Subjects -- subjects who live their own lives, have their own reasons for doing things, experience their own trials and triumphs, construct their own meanings, have their own thoughts and feelings as beliefs, and so on. The challenge for 2012 will be focusing my energy on those who are capable of talking to and talking with Black people and not talking at, talking for, or talking about us. From now on, I'm only going to get involved with discussions that involve Black people only when I can see that the discussion is framed around Black people as subjects. If that is not the case, I'm generally going to ignore it or poke fun at it. Maybe even link to this post, if I'm feeling generous.

The rule of thumb is this: if the discussion is about Black people or people of color, and not by Black people or people of color, it should ask Black people or people of color for their input. Not to debate or otherwise argue about basic shit (like whether racism is real in theatre or anywhere else), but to more fully understand something from the perspective of those who have to live with it.

I know that some people would ask, "Well, what about discussions about White people?" To be honest, that's not really my concern. Yes, that's a double standard. But it's a double standard I've experienced as necessary in order to have a real dialogue and not revert to White people telling Black people and other people of color what to do, what to say, how to say it, and how to think and feel about it. Which, again, goes back to treating Black people like objects.

And all that stuff I said above? That goes for discussions about women too.

* Particularly Black women for some reason. I don't know why so many people in 2011 were so interested in who we're dating (or not dating), fucking (or not fucking), marrying (or not marrying), or giving birth (or not giving birth) to.

Walking the talk on moneyballing theatre

2011-12-05T18:40:00.001-05:00

As my plans for the 2012 production of Tulpa, or Anne&Me start coming together, I'm in a pretty good position to apply some of the ideas I brought up in my "What If . . . Theatres Played Moneyball?" post. As I'm researching venues and running the IndieGoGo campaign (which you should contribute to if you haven't already), I'm also thinking of ways to describe what I'm looking for in various members of the cast and crew.

Being that the director is the keystone person in all this, I created a job ad for a director that lays out, in simple terms, what I need that person to do. When writing it, I gave myself a few "rules" to work with, such as:

Must be written as "can do," not "must have"
No less than 3 but no more than 7 requirements
Directly mention the people I want to apply

What I came up with was:

This play needs a DIRECTOR who can:

apply anti-racist principles and practices to all aspects of production
create an amazing theatrical experience with limited tech and budget
work within the guidelines of the AEA showcase code
respect the playwright's voice and vision
collaborate with the playwright to select cast and crew
schedule and attend all rehearsals
maintain a healthy working environment

Although education and experience are definitely helpful, what matters most is your passion, vision, and commitment - and how easy you are to work with. Because of the play's subject matter and my personal interest in giving opportunities to underrepresented theatre artists, queer women of color are strongly encouraged to reach out.

I am seeking to make my final decision by January 15.

Please send all inquiries and supporting materials (if any) to [my personal info].

Hopefully, this will draw people who would be the biggest assets to the production and not just those who interview well. I'm sure that some experienced theatre artists may look at my requirements and go, "Well, duh!" But I've heard a lot of stories about people who get involved in projects without being solid on the "Well, duh" parts and wind up creating a complete clusterfuck. As time goes on, I've learned to give myself credit for the fact that, while I make mistakes, I don't have to make ALL the mistakes ALL by myself to learn.

I hope that, should I find a director this way, I can apply the same thing to the rest of the cast an crew.

What about you? Do you have any experiences with "moneyballin" theatre? How did it turn out?

Tulpa 2012 is coming! And you can help!

2011-11-15T13:36:00.001-05:00

Visit the IndieGoGo campaign to make a contribution and find out more about how you can help make Tulpa, or Anne&Me happen.

Discourse and community organizing in indie theatre

2011-11-12T18:04:00.001-05:00

Previously, I talked about the need for community organizing in indie theatre and what that means. I mentioned that transforming the landscape of indie theatre will require a different way of engaging so that everyone can fully participate.

I want to parallel two recent experiences that bring into sharp relief the need for a new way to navigate discourse in the indie theatre community. The first is the Audre Lorde Project's QTPOC Occupy Wall Street Town Hall meeting. The second is Gwydion's Playwrights Wish List.

At ALP's Town Hall, there were a few things that stood out about the process: 1) the participants came from all walks of life; 2) everyone present participated and was fully engaged; and 3) there were differences of opinion but not debate.

I believe this has to do with the way the town hall was set up. First of all, there were ground rules for discussion which everyone agreed to abide by. They were:

One mic, one diva
Step up, step back
Check your privilege

With these 3 simple rules, it set the stage for this town hall to be a place where the community could listen and share, just to get a lay of the land and see where people are. After sharing those rules, we broke up into 6 groups. We did not have our choice of groups; we just counted off. In retrospect, this was probably a good idea because it gets rid of habitual ways we have of interacting in a familiar group. Each group had 1 or 2 facilitators.

Once we were in our groups, we went to our assigned spaces, we selected a note-taker and reporter (for the report-back). Then we asked 3 simple questions for us to ask about QTPOC involvement at Occupy Wall Street. Not leading questions, just open things for people to share. If I'm remembering correctly, we were asked:

Are you involved with OWS? Why or why not?
Why do you think QTPOCs are marginalized at OWS?
What can we bring from OWS to our own community organizing?
(Bonus) What did you want to get from the town hall meeting?

We were given about 30-45 minutes to talk about these questions. After that, we reconvened, and each group gave a 5-minute report-back that shared the general feeling of the group plus some responses to the questions. Then we had a few minutes for general feedback and to fill in info gaps about what happened in our group breakouts.

It was an amazing experience because I felt empowered and connected in a way that I rarely feel in everyday life. Let's be clear here; I was not controlling anything. I was just one participant in a group. Yet I felt more powerful there than I did in situations where my control is more or less absolute. Isn't that something?

Over Twitter, Gwydion and I chatted briefly about how we could import this model to the virtual world. Since then, I've been thinking a lot about his Playwrights Wish List because that's exactly the kind of thing we need more of in the theatre community. It hits almost every single one of the community organizing principles. Granted, it's going to be tough to sustain that effort since Gwydion took upon himself roles that are usually spread out among at least 3 other people (facilitator, note-taker, report-back). However, comparing the success of the town hall meeting with the success of the Playwrights Wishlist, I noticed that they had a few things in common.

An explicit invitation to a specific group
A clear understanding of what we're there to do
Willingness to allow individuals to speak for themselves, asking for clarity where needed
Responsiveness to the group needs and concerns
Commitment to follow up in the future

Those are just off the top of my head. What other things would you add to creating a truly participatory model of discourse when it comes to organizing in the indie theatre community?

Community organizing and indie theatre

2011-11-12T14:36:00.001-05:00

A while back I mentioned an interest in combining theatre with community organizing. For a variety of reasons, November has been the month where I've committed to learning more about community organizing. I'm taking part in the Audre Lorde Project's Daring To Be Powerful community organizing workshop, and I'm really enjoying myself and sensing a lot of growth.

My work with the Audre Lorde Project is a natural continuation of what I've been doing with the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond. With the People's Institute, I've developed the ability to analyze power structures and root them in real history. With the Audre Lorde Project, I'm learning how to apply that analysis in a way that reflects and serves QTPOC (queer/trans people of color - pronounced "Cutie Pock") communities.

This community organizing aspect of my artistic journey is particularly striking because, in my opinion, theatre is the most communal of the arts. It is the art form most intimately connected to where, when, and with whom it happens. You can tell a lot about a community by the theatre it creates.

As this communal element becomes a bigger part of who I am as a theatre maker, it becomes increasingly important for theatre to become the vanguard for exposing, examining, and transforming the power dynamics within our communities. Part of being able to do all that is creating methods of discourse that truly allow for the full participation of the community.

Yet as a community, theatre tends to be more reactive than proactive. We react to what the NEA is doing. We react to this or that theater's decisions. We react to this or that critic's statements about The Ultimate Truth About The State Of All Theatre. We react to this or that article or book being published. And I'm thinking, "Shouldn't this be the other way around? Shouldn't we be telling them what needs to change? Shouldn't they be listening and responding to us?"

Then again, how would they do that? It's not like we're being invited to fully participate in conversations about things that affect us (To me, this is what differentiates the Haves from the Have Nots - see HowlRound). And it's not like those things are receiving sustained effort and attention. As a result, it seems that we're having the same conversations all the time, and we're starting from ground zero each time we have these conversations. No matter what the discussion is, we always have to deal with

Denial that there is a problem
Refusal to believe things can change
Disbelief that we, collectively, have the power to make those changes
Unwillingness to act even in small ways

So what we have are stimulating discussions with brilliant people that never seem to lead to concrete action. We lack for nothing: not vision, not knowledge, not resolve, not know-how, not resources. Look at what we actually accomplish! Look at how much time and energy and brainpower we've put into doing the work we do just for the love of it. We're not powerless. We're not lazy. We're not stupid. We have the ability to make things very different for ourselves and our communities, but we seem to keep doing the same old thing.

Allow me to go on a bit of a tangent and explain different ways to work for change because without it, what I say after this won't make much sense. There are 4 basic aspects to working for change. They are:

Service - focus on individuals and respond to immediate needs
Advocacy - work with representatives to change policy
Activism - mobilize individuals to increase attention about issues
Organizing - community members change power relations to address root causes

Because of what I've learned from the People's Institute and the Audre Lorde Project, I've come to understand that what theatre needs now is organizing. When I talk about organizing, I don't simply mean doing things in an orderly fashion. I'm using the Audre Lorde Project's definition, which states that organizing is:

a strategic process for building people's collective power to achieve self-determination and justice

Political action is one of the more overt forms of community organizing, but there are many ways that it can be applied. Of course, just waking up one day and saying, "We should organize!" just doesn't work. Organizing efforts need to be guided by solid principles. In my experience, having clear, explicit principles for action cuts down on a lot of dysfunctional bullshit that makes dealing with some organizations a real pain in the ass. The Audre Lorde Project outlines a few organizing principles:

Self-determination - those directly affected by the problem decide what should happen and are in leadership
Power - build a base of people/community power; make changes in power relations
Justice and movement building - in line with justice for all oppressed people
"We" not "I" - broad base of community members; act together based on shared vision for change
Direct action - actions that directly take on those in power; using our voices, minds, bodies, and creativity in numbers for empowerment
Address root causes - address underlying causes; address the ultimate reason for a problem ("-isms")

Of course, this is just one group's set of organizing principles. How could we refine them for the indie theatre community?

Will you contribute $50 to support theatre by and about queer Black women?

2011-11-03T16:41:00.002-04:00

“When I dare to be powerful - to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid” — Audre Lorde

Earlier this year, I wrote and produced a play called Tulpa, or Anne&Me that debuted at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity.

Since that first production, I’ve often been asked about what’s next for Tulpa, or Anne&Me. This is a great sign because it means that the play has touched people in some deep places and led to powerful moments of growth and healing for many. I feel a real responsibility to make this piece the best I can make it and bring it to as many places as I can where people want and need to see it.

Right now, I’m talking with someone who can offer me an opportunity for more performances in mid- to late April. Despite the fact that I’m based in NYC, there are still only a few plays by and about queer Black women being made. Although the world we live in wants me to be comfortable with feeling insignificant, I no longer have the luxury to deceive myself into believing that my work and my voice are not important.

I am raising $3,000 for the 2012 production of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. If only 60 people contribute just $50 each*, I can reach that goal. If only 60 people contribute just $50 each, my work will have another chance to do what it’s meant to do — pave the way for healing and transformation in our lives, relationships, and communities. If only 60 people contribute just $50 each, they will be doing more than putting a story on stage, but creating a vibrant opportunity to honor those of us who are Black and woman and queer.

Will you contribute $50 to be part of that process?

(*That works out to only 1 person a day for the next 60 days.)

Emptiness and the living playwright

2011-10-21T17:14:00.003-04:00

It may seem strange for me to say this, but the biggest influence on my work as a playwright is Peter Brook's The Empty Space and The Open Door. The Empty Space is one of the first books about theatre I ever picked up. At the time, I only plucked them off the shelf because they were short and easy for me to understand. Little did I know how fortuitous it was for this piece to appeal to me. From the first sentence, I was immediately made aware of the sheer possibility of theatre:

"I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage. A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all I need for an act of theatre to be engaged." -- Peter Brook, The Empty Space

If I can be said to have anything approaching a philosophy of theatre-making, that would be it. This idea of emptiness as a core component of theatre-making fascinates me as an artist. What a liberating, empowering concept! To make vital theatre that engages audiences at every moment, you don't need a building, or sets, or a light/sound board. All you need are people and space. Imagine that!

The Open Door is the book that made me realize that making theatre that captivates and touches an audience depends not on a complex intellectual edifice, but the freedom to explore and discover. This helped free me from feeling obligated to explain so much about my plays, whether in the script itself or when collaborating with others.

Of course, Peter Brook was working with playwrights who are either dead or not present during the production.

As a living playwright, this puts me in a bit of a quandary. On the one hand, I want to help collaborators in whatever way I can. On the other hand, I want to give people the space to discover their own meanings for the play. Sure, I want to be involved, and I want the intentions I have to be honored, but at the end of the day, I wrote a play, not a manifesto.

In my own writing, I deliberately create empty spaces, and I am often reluctant to make any definitive statements about my work's meaning or intent. For one thing, those things are not static. Who I am when I initially write a script is often not the same person as who I am six months after the final draft. Another thing is that I enjoy making room for a variety of perspectives and approaches. Giving my scripts this free space, I find, does much to keep the work fresh and allows for more powerful collaborations with fellow artists and audiences.

What about you? How do you create empty spaces in your own work as a theatre maker?

Follow-up "Moneyball" post at TCG Circle!

2011-10-19T17:19:00.003-04:00

At TCG Circle, I ask, "What if . . . theatres played Moneyball?"

Then I dig deeper by asking, “What if, instead of relying on gut reactions and chemistry, we figured out a way to describe, observe, and measure what we are looking for?”

Check it out and drop a few of your ideas!

What if . . . Indie theatre played Moneyball?

2011-10-13T20:20:00.000-04:00

There's rich teams, and there's poor teams. Then there's 50 feet of crap, and then there's us."

-- Brad Pitt as Billy Beane, Moneyball

I'm not much of a sports fan, so Moneyball was a real departure for me in terms of my normal film viewing habits. That said, I was glad I went to see it because what I saw got me thinking about the way we approach making theatre.

In the film, the Oakland A's is a major league baseball team that doesn't have the money to attract and maintain star players. When they get someone really good, they're quickly snapped up by teams that can offer a lot more money. In effect, the A's were constantly hemorrhaging talent to rich teams like the Yankees and the Red Sox.

The story starts when the A's have just lost their top three players, which they have to replace on the same limited budget they've always been operating with. Having had enough of this, General Manager Billy Beane starts to question the conventional wisdom of finding and recruiting talent. Help comes in the form of Peter Brand, a Yale economics graduate who has adapted a system for determining just how much a player can contribute to winning games. It completely goes against the old way of thinking about what matters when it comes to how baseball games are won. The system leads to the A's uncovering rare gems in major league baseball who were previously overlooked because they looked and performed differently from the square-jawed All-American ideal of what makes a great baseball player. The result was what Peter Brand called the major league baseball version of the Island of Misfit Toys. Once they were able to maximize and synergize the unique talents of these players, the A's had a 20-game winning streak.

I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this.

What if . . . we applied Moneyball thinking to off-off-Broadway theatre?

How would we take out the guesswork and bias of conventional wisdom to find what truly works for the theatre we want to make? How can we transform the way we relate to and organize with other people in the trenches with us? How can we maximize the strengths of off-off-Broadway theatre to uncover the hidden gems that get overlooked by the current way of doing things?

The way things look now, a lot of us are doing what Broadway does but on a smaller scale (in other words, cheaper). From our selection process to putting together a cast and crew to securing a venue for rehearsal and performance, there's nothing about the way we go about doing these things that separates us from the big guys. We even look for the same things when we do this, with a few cosmetic differences here and there.

We're all on the lookout for this vague thing called quality and striving for this thing we call excellence. Although this can lead to some amazing results, I sometimes wonder if this is despite the system rather than because of it.

What would happen if we took the search for quality out of the equation? What if, instead of relying on what we call talent or chemistry, we figured out a way to describe, observe, and measure what we are looking for? How would that change the way we talk about what we're trying to do? How would that change who could be involved in that process? How would that change where we worked? How we worked? Why we worked? What we worked with/on?

What I see happening is a move away from credentials and connections toward model where individuals come together to create theatre for a specific purpose in a distinctive way. Imagine more things like FUREE in Pins and Needles, things that could not happen in any other environment but one that made room for experimentation, encouraged the participation of non-specialists, and facilitated direct collaboration within communities.

At least, that's what I hope would happen.

Present-day African theatre forms

2011-10-05T08:00:00.000-04:00

I came across this article about present-day African theatrical forms while doing research on a few things. It's an intriguing read, especially in comparison and contrast to discussions about devised theatre that crop up from time to time.

I'm not yet sure how I'll relate this to the poiesis as a whole, but I do know that I am reluctant to do what's always been done with African culture and limit analysis and engagement to specific forms as opposed to digging a bit deeper. For instance, I wouldn't want to end up focusing overmuch on masks and dance -- the predictably "exotic" elements -- while ignoring the different ways African cultures conceive and construct reality. I'm far more fascinated by, say, the impact of a diunital worldview upon the ways people of African descent construct and interpret story.

QBWL poiesis: go figure

2011-10-03T08:00:00.000-04:00

Somebody beat me to it. It's worth a read, especially as a way of putting a lot of what I say in context. While the linked article described what womanist theatre is about, my poiesis seeks to be more about how to make it work.

QBWL poiesis: creating space

2011-09-10T05:53:00.003-04:00

In my previous post about a queer Black womanist liberation poiesis, I talked about queer space and Black space and what I imagine that being like. Now that I'm thinking about how the next phases of Tulpa's journey will take shape, I am starting to believe that I was not far-reaching enough in my analysis. Rather than define queerness, Blackness, and womanhood as abstract concepts and attempting to create aesthetics from it, what I should have been doing is assuming queer Black womanhood from the start and working on the ramifications for allowing that to express itself. I should have known better than to try to force that reality into a format that was not meant to contain it.

I believe that, instead of trying to fit my selfhood into these neatly defined ideas, I instead need to start by affirming that . . .

I am Black. I am woman. I am queer.

And then asking . . .

Now what?

This shift in perspective is due in part to some soul-searching I had to do about what I wanted for Tulpa, or Anne&Me and the role that each potential collaborator will play. For a while now, I've been reflecting on some of the patterns I enabled in the development and performance of Tulpa, and I come at it from a few conflicting places. At the root of these conflicts was a question: How do I create a space where the queer Black woman voice can be heard as free of distortion as possible? Who is permitted in that space? What are the mandates of that space?

You have to understand why these questions are so essential to creating a praxis that allows me to exist in the fullness of myself.

Oftentimes, in order for the world at large to recognize my humanity, I must excise my queerness, my Blackness, my womanhood. I have to effectively erase the parts of my identity and the experiences I've had - those things that signify my uniqueness as a living, breathing human being - in order to even be allowed entrance into the human family. In a weird sort of cognitive jujitsu, I must mutilate my humanity in order to affirm it.

Given that the world is hostile to my full self - especially to my woman self, my queer self, my Black self - art becomes a sanctuary in which I can feel free to be myself for myself. Ironically, theatre allows full self-expression by giving us permission to fully be other selves. Just as a physical location creates a space that can be filled by the world of a play, the masks we wear create a space that our selves can fill. Through the dynamic interplay of these spaces and selves, a voice* can emerge.

*Here I should probably update my definition of voice as the relationship between the spaces created in the play. Plot, character, theme, and spectacle are aspects of the voice, but they do not define it as I suggested earlier.

But there must first be the space.

And, again, I must return to the question of how I will construct space. As you may have guessed, the creation of space has more far-reaching ramifications than the particulars of, say, blocking or design. It influences the relationships that artists have with each other, perhaps even the relationships that audience members have with one another and/or with the artists.

While it's tempting to simply say, "It all depends" and leave it at that, the fact of the matter is that I am creating a queer Black womanist liberation poiesis, so defining how to create such a space is part and parcel of this effort. If pressed for a concise definition, I would define a liberated queer Black womanist space as one where womanhood, Blackness, and queerness - all these symbols of Otherness - may be fully integrated into that space. It is a space that embraces Otherness as an essential component of selfhood and one that makes room for fully engaging that Otherness without stating or implying a reduction of the self to Otherness.

In more concrete terms, a liberated queer Black womanist space expresses its Blackness through diunital cognition (both-and thinking), is queerness through embracing difference and fluidity, its womanhood through birthing spaces via the self. Such a space is liberated because it frees those of us who dwell in these spaces to (finally!) express the fullness of who we are.

Of course, when creating these spaces, it is not simply a matter of stating, "This is what I want." Again, it must go back to praxis. What must be in place for this space to exist? What are the demands this space would place upon those who would step into it?

I honestly haven't thought about it too much, but the main thing that comes up is that it must serve the needs and interests of queer Black women by placing queer Black women at the center of knowledge and authority. This does not allow, say, a Skeeter to swoop in, take our stories, and use them primarily for her own gain. It does not allow someone who is not a queer Black woman to set the agenda, determine the terms of engagement, or control the process. Yet, it encourages self-examination. It encourages intimacy. It encourages solidarity. But it must be free of the taint of domination in order for us to find our own voices and realize our own potential for freedom.

I hope that explains it. Does it make sense?

I drank the Facebook kool-aid

2011-09-09T14:33:00.001-04:00

Against my better judgment, I joined Facebook. You can find me at https://www.facebook.com/rvcbard.

Yes, I am deeply ashamed of myself. Please don't rub it in.

reflections on soft power

2011-09-05T15:42:00.000-04:00

Adam Thurman has a TEDxMichigan Ave Talk, "Power and the Arts," that's all too brief yet full of amazing insights about the use of power in the arts:

For those of you who don't have 10 minutes to spare, or just want to skip to the good parts, I offer a highlight of the piece that stands out to me:

There are two types of power: hard power and soft power. What we've been using in the arts for the past 50 years is hard power. Hard power is about force. Hard power is about coercion. And we have been master of hard power. We know how to build big buildings. We know how to turn artists into forces of personality. And we know how to argue. [...] Coerce, force, persuade.

And what we're learning now [...] is the limits of hard power. [...] Now we have to transition to a second type of power. And that is soft power. Soft power is defined as the ability to bend people toward your worldview through attraction, not force. [...] What's your worldview? What do you believe in? Don't tell me what you do. I don't care what you do. I've observed that someone else who does what you do, and they're probably better than you. [...] What's the point of all this? [...] How do we get better at telling the world what we believe? And then, let's take it one step further: How do we show what we believe?

This is an fascinating line of thinking in light of my recent work with Tulpa, or Anne&Me, as well as a couple of my most recent posts about writing artist statements.

This may surprise people who only know me online, but it takes a lot of physical and psychological resources for me to interact with people. In public, and around people I don't know well, I tend to be extremely reserved. Part of this is my natural introversion, so I feel deeply uncomfortable when thrust into an unfamiliar environment with a bunch of strangers and being expected to perform socially. So when I am present and engaged in such a situation, it really means something. It's not something I'm doing just because it's something to do. It also means that when I talk about myself, I don't like feeling as though I have to puff myself up to seem capable, important, or worthy.

As you may guess, this means I suck at selling myself. But when I am invited to share something I'm passionate about that means a lot to me, it's a lot easier (not easy!) for me. I don't know if it's because it relieves most of the anxiety by taking the onus off me as a person, if it's because my enthusiasm becomes apparent and therefore contagious, if it's because I'm tapping into something greater than myself that speaks through me, or some combination of these or other things. The result is that it's much easier to talk about myself and what I do when I can focus on passion, vision, and purpose.

This would, if Adam's TEDx Talk is anything to go by, put me firmly on the side of soft power when it comes to the way I orient myself as I use the energy and resources I have. More than that, though, I tend to be deeply uncomfortable with hard power. If I were to hazard a guess, it may have something to do with the fact that, in my experience, whenever I have felt or was mistreated, it has been because of a misuse of hard power - especially in the form of actual or perceived authority. It's not that I hate it; after all, we all use both forms of power. However, I do tend to be very distrustful of it because of my experience with people using hard power to violate my boundaries.

As a result, using and receiving soft power as opposed to hard power feels very different for me. Soft power feels like an invitation. "This may be something you're interested in because blah blah blah. Would you like to join?" Hard power feels like an ultimatum. "Do what I want or lose something precious. Do what I want or you fail at life."

That's not to say that's what really happens, or that's what people are really trying to do. But I often receive it that way. As my social consciousness grows, I've become increasingly sensitive to how hard power functions within systems of oppression. While there is the obviously problematic nature of hard power when it is used by a privileged person against a non-privileged person in discussions about oppression, there is also the question about the use of hard power in the service of dismantling systems of oppression.

Put simply, hard power doesn't work. It doesn't work because it comes from external sources trying to breach into your internal processes. Although it's a great temporary fix, and it can have immediate and effective results when trying to convince powerful people to make a decision about a specific act, it fails to undermine the internal processes that uphold these systems. As social justice activists are increasingly starting to notice, books, articles, statistics, workshops, advertising, and other methods of instruction and argument cannot prompt a person to change themselves if they don't want to or see a need to change.

What does lead to lasting change? Friendship. Marriage. Family. Religion. The things we value most about our lives. The things that can be reached only through soft power.

For instance, the person who sticks to a diet and exercise regimen won't be the one who's bought into all the weight loss advertisements or all the articles that prove how healthy eating and exercise is good for you and will lead to a longer, fuller life. It's the elderly man who wants to be there for his granddaughter's graduation. The person who quits smoking is not the one who has read all the studies about how cigarettes will kill them. It's the 30-something woman who nearly dies from a stroke with so much left they want to do.

It's the same thing with social justice. Real change comes from our connection to what has intrinsic value to us. It's a White woman who gets into a serious relationship with a woman of color and sees a tiny bit of what she goes through then decides that the world should not be that way. It's the pastor who sees the pain homophobia causes the brightest and most exemplary members in his congregation. It's a mother realizing that her son has actually always been her daughter, and what it means to support her in a reality rife with trans misogyny.

Since theatre, like all arts, creates and reflects the world we live in, it is inherently an agent of soft power. So why aren't we seeing more individuals, organizations, and institutions using the tremendous soft power that is already a part of what makes theatre so vital? I honestly don't know, but I think it's worth clearing up some potential misconceptions that may be limiting our ability to notice and nurture the soft power all around us. This is all based on my experience with tapping into soft power. Other people's understanding of it may be different.

Soft does not mean weak.
Let me give you an anatomic example. Compared to muscle and bone, the vagina is soft and pliant. But babies come out of there. Speaking of theatre in terms of passion, values, and purpose allows the work itself to accommodate many forms, building experiences and relationships on the way. But when it gains momentum, it becomes an irresistible force. Like pussy for people who like pussy.

Soft is resilient.
When you talk to people who have experienced catastrophe, pay attention to the things they say when they talk about how they got through it. The common thread I've noticed is hope. Hope is the ultimate soft power. Hope lends courage, tenacity, and resourcefulness to people and places where they would not be expected to dwell. Hope does more than help people survive. It gives us the ability to heal and to live.

Soft does not mean easy.
I don't know about you, but I wasn't fortunate enough to be born knowing what I'm here to do or who I'm meant to be. I still don't have any certainty about those things, but I have a better grasp on it than I did. It took trial and error. It took serious soul-searching. It took making a commitment despite the cost. Finding and pursuing your Why (as Simon Sinek calls it) is not easy. It takes the ability to be honest with yourself and the willingness to cut off things that detract from your Why.

Soft power is not determined; it is revealed.
The hardest thing about using soft power is the fact that you can't force it. Like a seed taking root or a flower starting to blossom, you cannot create soft power just because you say you want to. Sometimes the hardest thing about soft power is the fact that you sometimes have to just stop, wait, and watch. It's very much like the way people describe being pregnant. You have all these mysterious processes leading to something wonderful. But in the meantime you're subjected to cravings and mood swings and pain in weird parts of your body. Once it's over, and you recognize your child, you finally see what it all meant.

This post has gone on long enough, so I want to hear from you. What is your relationship to hard and/or soft power? How does this affect the way you go about doing things? How does this reflect who you are as a person? What other thoughts and insights do you have to share?

healing and transformation: a brief introduction to my artistic self

2011-09-03T00:42:00.097-04:00

On my LiveJournal, there is a post entitled, Why I'm Doing This. It is a collection of quotes from people who reached out to me to tell me how Tulpa, or Anne&Me has helped heal them or has transformed how they think about the issues the play raises. When I reflect upon this, I see that as a playwright, I act more as a shaman than as an author. Through my plays, I lead the audience into an alternate reality where they can find healing and transformation. This parallel grows stronger with each piece that I write, making it an essential part of my process and purpose as an artist.

Shamanism reveals itself most clearly in the structure of my plays. In each script, I take people to a different world where they encounter essences – spirits, if you will – of forces we confront everyday yet do not always recognize. This experience helps change thought patterns and start conversations that are so important to us, yet are so frightening to have. Stripped of everyday dross, this gives people the opportunity to face and name these things in order to overcome them.

This may seem strange considering my commitment to advocating social justice. Talking about spirits and other worlds seems ephemeral in comparison to the daily realities of systemic oppression. As someone who lives at the intersections of several oppressions, when I run into racism, sexism, and/or homophobia, it hits me like concrete. At the same time, what is racism but a ghost that lingers and haunts our lives? What is sexism but a spirit that seizes control whenever given the opportunity? What is homophobia but a demon that feeds on the hate and fear of those in its grip, and devours the pain and suffering that fear and hate cause?

Aesthetically, this mystical approach to current realities means that my plays are steeped in mythology, religion, fairy tales, folklore and even astrology. These have been the wells of inspiration I have drawn from since childhood. I have yet to outgrow this inclination to “play” with reality, to make literal and concrete what is often abstract and allegorical. So my works lend themselves to a stylized approach to staging. They have much in common with non-Western theatrical forms such as Noh drama and Butoh, religious rituals based in Vodou and indigenous traditions, and role-playing games that take place in fantastic or science fiction settings.

In thematic terms, there is a strong current of Otherness in my work - other worlds, other beings, other times - due in no small part to my own experience with Otherness. Living as a queer Black Jewish woman makes Otherness an ever-present reality. No matter where I go, I am some form of Other. Please do not misunderstand; I have no desire to be "normal." Yet life as a perpetual Other does come with a certain amount of internal and external strife. By laying this bare from the perspective of the Other, my work transforms Otherness from a source of powerlessness and isolation to a source of knowledge and freedom. Through this process, I hope to heal and transform the world by showing how I heal and transform myself.

artist vs. audience? maybe not.

2011-09-02T00:34:00.000-04:00

At the 2AMt blog, Aaron Andersen asks if we really want to be like Apple.

In my comment responding to the post, I reveal my fully fledged nerd status when I said:

Sometimes I wonder about this artist/audience division. Speaking for myself, I write plays like the ones I like to or want to see. So in a weird, roundabout way, I am the audience too. This does gel with my experience with roleplaying games, where the creators of the content are the same as its audience (generally speaking).

To what extent is it likely that we often set up a dichotomy between artist and audience that doesn't have to be there? What would our relationship to our work be like if that distinction was not there (or was at least heavily muted)?

Just in case you had doubts about how big a nerd I am, I came to theatre from roleplaying games. And no, a few sessions of D&D ain't what I'm talking about. I mean whole shelves taken up by White Wolf Games, Dungeons & Dragons, and indie RPGs that most people probably never heard of. And let's not talk about the games I designed myself.

During a brief Twitter conversation, I shared that what made roleplaying games unique is the fact that the audience and creators of a game are typically one and the same, so the division between artist and audience doesn't necessarily exist for me. I don't think about the audience as though I'm somehow separate and aloof from it. As a matter of fact, I write the things I want to see.

Does the fact that I create content by itself put me in a different category from the rest of the theatre-going community? I suppose one could argue that I bring specialized knowledge or expertise to the process, but I don't doubt that there are theatre-goers who have a broader and deeper knowledge of theatre than I do and who can probably articulate their ideas about it much better than I can.

Are artist and audience really separate in some fundamental way? If so, where does the division between artist and audience lie?

On writing artistic statements

2011-08-31T19:42:00.001-04:00

Kari's post about application fatigue couldn't have come at a better time. Yeah, I'm a week late (10 points taken off, I know), but now that things seem to be settling down a bit in my personal life, I have time to catch up and reflect on what's been happening on the theatrosphere. To be quite honest, this seems to work a lot better for my natural way of processing things.

I had to complete an artist statement for a program I'm applying to, and it's one of the most frustrating things I've ever done. Granted, I only suffered for a few days (or, to be more precise, procrastinated for 5 days and suffered a sleepless night), but it's still a pain in the ass to more or less justify your existence as an artist in 500 words or so.

Yes, yes, it's a great exercise and all - but damn! As I said in the comments of Kari's blog:

If I knew exactly what I wanted to say with my work and why, I would just, y’know, say it instead of wrestling with a script. Not to mention, I don’t like forcing myself or my work into a box that may or may not fit where I am at any particular time. Don’t get me wrong; I think a certain amount of reflection can really help give you greater clarity about what you’re really trying to do with your current piece. But trying to squeeze your past, present, and future work into a one-page summary seems, to me, rather reductive by default.

In a weird sort of way, artistic statements force you to talk about your artistic growth in a way that almost stunts your growth. Talking about a play – or even a playwright – as though it’s a fixed, immutable concept rather than a dynamic interplay of overlapping processes seems contradictory to the very things that we enjoy about theatre.

Yet at the same time (here's that diunital logic thing I talked about earlier), writing an artistic statement in and of itself, free from the pressure of proving your worth, has been a great help on gaining more insight into what makes me and my work unique. It's forced me to think about how I relate to my work and the things this relationship to my work compels me to do.

It's also a great way to communicate with future collaborators who are (to my knowledge) not telepathic so may not know what aspects of my work are most essential to my purpose and process as an artist. It reminds me of this TED Talk by Simon Sinek (Start with Why):

While the original context of Sinek's TED Talk was business and leadership, the general idea translates beautiful to endeavors driven by ideas and people.

As I think about it, I suppose my ambivalence about artist statements is not the statement itself but the reason why we often wind up writing them. As a tool that simply communicates who we are as artists, they're a priceless resource. There are few artists I know who would not respond well to an invitation to share things about their work that are not always immediately apparent. And by invitation to share I don't mean putting us on the spot or demanding us to justify certain artistic choices. No, no, hell no. But the opportunity to share a bit of where some of the stuff we create comes from can be a refreshing change of pace from critiques and reviews.

Yet most of the time, this is not what we're asked to do with artist statements. Rather, it's not all we're asked to do. The thing we're really being asked to do (and we writers know this) is convince the people who will be selecting us for their programs or our works for their productions that we are Good Enough. Y'know, that old selling yourself thing. Hey, I know and appreciate artists who get their hustle on. But I wonder if, by making so much of this process about marketing and publicity, we're losing touch with something more vital.

What do you think?

Theatre as community organizing and entrepreneurship

2011-07-22T19:03:00.000-04:00

Over at Parabasis, 99 Seats is discussing dynamic ticketing in theatre. While the discussion about this particular topic is interesting, I'm more intrigued by how it (once again) reveals the tension between for-profit and non-profit models for creating revenue in theatre. Or rather, the tension between the desire to create theatre that is accessible to everyone with the reality that creating theatre is really fucking expensive.

The value of theatre is most often described in its social impact - it's power to awaken, to inspire, to educate, to explore, to connect, to delight, etc. Yet, ironically, butts in seats determines a great deal about how most institutions function.

And now for a detour that's not really a detour.

I'm a member of the Anti-Racist Alliance women of color group, which I came to through the undoing racism workshop by the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond. At our last meeting, I expressed my growing restlessness when it comes to social justice. While dialogue is crucial, and I enjoy talking to people who really want to learn, this is no longer sufficient for my growth as an artist-activist. When the other women of color heard this, one of them said, "You're becoming an organizer," to which several others nodded or said, "Yup."

This shift in focus and effort is beginning to influence every aspect of my life, from how I want to earn a living to the kind of work I want to do to the kinds of conversations I want to have. This is not a dismissal of the discussion, but a desire to transform ideas into action. While it can be stimulating to once again wrestle with these perennial issues, the debating, explaining, and analyzing seems to be a distraction from the real question: How do we get out of this mess?

For a certain cantankerous professor (said with love), the answer is geographic decentralization. For others, it might be thinking outside the black box for performance spaces. Personally, I'm attracted to exploring the link between theatre and social entrepreneurship and/or lifestyle entrepreneurship. How can we change the way we make theatre so that it does what we believe it's best for while giving us a sustainable lifestyle that allows us to follow our passion? How can we organize differently so that we have an abundance of theatre's essentials (people, time, and space)?

For example, WOW Cafe Theatre does not operate as a production company, but as a collective of different artists and individuals who gather and create work in a particular space for the purpose of empowering women through the performing arts. As a result of the way they organize and how they used their resources, WOW is able to make creating theatre a hell of a lot more accessible than any theatre organization I've ever come across. The weird thing is that I've seen no other group like it in NYC. Where are the other places that do things differently? What can we start doing today to change things?

Now that it's over: reflections on "Tulpa, or Anne&Me" at Planet Connections Theatre Festivity

2011-06-27T19:03:00.001-04:00

Now that Tulpa, or Anne&Me is officially through with its run at Planet Connections Theatre Festivity, I can reflect on some of the things we did that went well and those that could have gone a lot better.

I'm hugely indebted to Little Jimmy's Guide to Self-Producing. As a result of the things I learned there, I was able to do 2 things I consider very important for every production: 1) pay everyone a little something and 2) stay under budget. Of course, as a playwright, the audience response and the artistic collaboration were the most satisfying aspects of producing Tulpa, or Anne&Me for the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity. But as a producer, staying under budget and paying people were my most crucial tasks.

Looking back on it, I'd say that my function as a producer is to create a framework under which the creative team can do its best work despite limitations in time, budget, and personnel. This suits me to a T because my mind works in a strongly systemic way, and producing is basically creating and managing a system. I'm a classic Meyers-Briggs INTJ, so I flourish in a role like this.

That being said, although I enjoyed producing Tulpa, or Anne&Me for the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity, there are some things I'd do differently if I knew ahead of time that I'd be doing it. The main thing, though . . .

Get the people first.

Although the nature of our project changed from a staged reading to a production, in retrospect we should have started looking for our cast and crew as soon as we got the news that we were accepted into the festival. On the one hand, we didn't want to put too many resources into a staged reading, but we should have treated a production as a likelihood instead of as a distant possibility. This would have made things like booking rehearsal space a lot easier as well as given us more time to work with design elements.

Everything turned out great for the festival; we were very lucky in that regard. The next time around (especially knowing what we're going to be doing), we have to be more diligent about this part of the process.

Besides mounting the production itself, getting the cast and crew involved at the very beginning of a production makes it much easier to do things like fundraising and audience building. It's easier for 10 people to raise $2,500 than it is for 2 people to raise $2,000. It's easier to ask 10 people to each convince 5 people to see the show than it is to get 1 person to get 50 people to come see a show.

And while we're at it . . .

Take the time to learn about and accommodate how people work.

Unless you are working with people who are just like you, there are going to be differences in the way everyone works. Part of working well with others is learning how to speak their language so that they can get what you're saying with a minimum of static.

For instance, in an early rehearsal, one of the actors mentioned that she's a highly auditory learner. That was such a revelation. It opened up a whole new way of relating to her and understanding how she sees the world. Yet how long would it have gone ignored had she not brought it up? How often do we overlook the ways we can better communicate with people? How often do we think to say, "This is what I need to do my best work?"

Breaking legs and such

2011-06-02T04:41:00.000-04:00

If all goes well, you won't be hearing from me for a few weeks because me and everyone working on Tulpa, or Anne&Me will be in the hospital for breaking legs.

If you haven't done so already, get your tickets and let me know when I'll see you there so I can say hi and be all social and stuff.

UPDATE: Due to changes happening with another show at the festivity, the June 16 performance will start at 8:30pm instead of 8pm. All other info stays the same.

To Do, To Watch, To Go

2011-05-26T18:22:00.000-04:00

Looks like June's going to be a busy month. Lots to do, watch, and go to.

I'm going to do my best to see Flux Theatre Ensemble's Ajax in Iraq as well as BOTH of Nosedive's works: Captain Moonbeam & Lynchpin/Savior and Freaks from the Morgue. I could do worse with my money (like see some summer blockbuster film that I know will be terrible *cough*Green Lantern*cough*).

In the meantime, Mom will be coming to NYC with my uncle and her friend. We're going to the Bronx Zoo. Shut up.

I have to say this because I can't not say it anymore

2011-05-23T01:46:00.000-04:00

Someone said something to me about That Conversation that really clicked. It was one of those moments when I see something I experience and realize that what happens is not my fault. To paraphrase, that person said, "You know how no matter what you say White people always think you're yelling at them?"

As soon as I heard that, a huge fog about many things I've been stewing on suddenly lifted, and something very important became clear: I am not the problem.

I usually keep things like this to myself (although recently I've been trying to break out of that habit), but with the show coming up and many of the things I've been involved with this week, as well as things that have happened to me and are going on in the world today, staying silent is self-destructive.

There's this pattern of behavior I notice in White men that really has to stop. It goes like this:

I say something critiquing or poking fun at White privilege, male privilege, and/or straight privilege.
White man decides that I'm hostile and angry and personally attacking him - as though he knows me and my thoughts/feelings/beliefs better than I do. And certainly those feelings matter less than his own because Black women are (to coin a phrase) "rhino-hided she-beasts" until proven otherwise.
White man decides to verbally put me in my place by attacking my intelligence, my sanity, or my morality - as though I must be stupid/crazy/evil to say what I say. They have learned the lesson very well - Black women are intellectually and morally inferior.
I shut up and keep my pain to myself because it's no use talking to the person who does this. I've been trained very well and know that I am supposed to remain silent in the face of White/male anger and disapproval.
The person who does this walks away with no clue how fucked up this whole thing is. They too have been trained very well and know that there's no point listening to that Angry Militant Black Bitch about anything.

I'd just like to say, to make it clear:

STOP FUCKING DOING THIS!

It's racist and sexist. I tried not taking it personally. I tried giving it the benefit of the doubt. But you know what? It is personal, and there is no defending or excusing it. I don't care who are, who you vote for, who you're friends with, who you work for, who you studied, or who you're fucking - this behavior is racist and sexist. And if you see this happening and you sit by and watch and not say or do anything, you may as well be agreeing with it.

I am not Mammy. I am not Sapphire. I am not Jezebel. Just because I'm not mothering or fucking you does not mean I'm trying to castrate you. For real, I have better things to do with my time than to deliberately go out of my way for the express purpose of making you feel bad. Will I sugarcoat my exasperation at your ignorance and apathy? No. You need to know what your shit does to people like me.

I tell you because I want to believe you're a decent person and that you care about not doing racist, sexist things. If you can't see that my telling you when you're fucking up is not about hating you, but about still having hope that you're a decent human being - then that's your shit, not mine. So stop putting your shit on me and acting like I'm the one stinking up the place.

To recap:

DON'T FUCKING DO THIS TO ME EVER AGAIN!

And tell me you're sorry if you have. Yeah, I know you don't think you did anything wrong, but it lets me know you're not a calloused asshole.

I drink the Tumblr Kool-Aid

2011-05-22T11:37:00.000-04:00

I know, I know - joining the herd. But you gotta do what you gotta do to get butts in seats (and find a way to make yourself useful).

Check out the Tumblr for Tulpa, or Anne&Me at http://tulpatheplay.tumblr.com. There's already all kinds of good stuff there, like:

The Other Side of the TV: info and updates about what goes on to put on the show you're going to see this June (and you are going to see it, aren't you?)
Between the Scenes: little vignettes written by me (the playwright) that are like deleted scene Easter eggs for the special edition DVD
Inspirational music, literature, and other media
Stuff about Planet Connections Theatre Festivity
Stuff about the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond
. . . and more!

Tulpa, or Anne&Me will be playing at the Robert Moss Theater (440 Studios) on June 2 at 6pm, June 3 at 4pm, June 16 at 8pm, and June 19 at 8:15pm.

You can buy your tickets now by going to https://www.ovationtix.com/trs/pr/822145.

Each show will be followed by a brief post-show discussion. Please come, watch, and share.

If you can’t make it to the show, consider supporting Tulpa by donating the price of a ticket to Crossroads Theatre Project by visiting https://www.fracturedatlas.org/donate/3503 or clicking the Fractured Atlas button below:

QBWL poiesis: queer space and black space

2011-05-14T21:45:00.002-04:00

I've been away from this project for a while, namely because I haven't had much time (for reasons you know very well from reading this blog). The other reason is that I simply hadn't been doing enough theatre to remark on it. But now that I'm in practicing mode, I can talk about it more freely.

It's been a few months, so let me recap. The "poiesis" label has all the relevant posts, but for the scroll-phobic, here's an overview. Feel free to refer to them and to force me to focus on what I meant to do. It's really easy for me to get trapped in theory when I'm trying to create a guide for practice.

"Big projects for 2011" outlines the gist of what my queer Black womanist liberation poiesis is about and what I'm trying to do with it.

"Why should you give a shit what queer Black women have to say?" is basically me trying to justify my efforts.

"Why queer Black womanist liberation poiesis matters to straight White guys doing theatre" looks at the benefits for even it's "natural enemies." Scarequotes on purpose because, despite what some people seem to believe, it's not about the Scary Black Dykes coming to cut off White men's penises.

"Dog Act and the power of naming" gets into identifying voice as the primary element of QWBL theatre by using Flux Theatre Ensemble's Dog Act as its case study.

"Voice, critique, and QBWL poiesis" springs off the Dog Act post to start looking at ways to critically engage with a piece without relying on the concept of picking apart what is good and bad about a piece.

"QBWL poiesis and Buber's I and Thou" explores how QBWL poiesis can be a powerful way of practicing the I-You relationship, which is incapable of domination, objectification, or dehumanization.

With those posts in mind, let me get into the next thing I wanted to explore.

A lot about this QBWL poiesis is about how we position ourselves and others in our own narratives. As such, space becomes another vital concept. While in previous posts I tended to lump that into voice, I now think that is an error. Looking back on it, I'd characterize voice as the What and space as the Where/When. Naturally, this is not set in stone. This framework is not about establishing rigid categories, but for the sake of understanding, a bit more precision is desirable.

This, in my mind, ties into the queerness of a QBWL poiesis. As suggested in this post, the main trait of queerness is how it occupies - or rather, embodies - a fluid space. It resists pre-defined positions and embraces paradox. It reveals the illusions of boundaries within and between Self-Other. When I talk about queering space or coming from a queer space, I'm talking about approaching understanding physical and conceptual structures this way.

Queering space is about naming and exploring boundaries. Where do the boundaries of a piece lie? Where are they transgressed? What maintains the boundaries? How are they crossed? How does that manifest? Who or what creates the boundaries? Why are they there in the first place?

The boundaries a queer space explores exist not only within a piece, but outside it as well. Part of what makes a piece like Tulpa, or Anne&Me so powerful for the people who've seen it is that it reflects and confronts the boundaries we carry with us outside the play.

In more particular terms, queer space also challenges what we've come to assume is true about gender and sexuality. It's not just who we are and what we like, but how we are and/or like those things.

Yet, while a QBWL poiesis stands firmly in a queer space (inasmuch as anything queer can be fixed), it is also a Black space.

Here it might be useful to explain - at least insofar as I am able - the associations I make with Blackness. For me, Blackness is not just a color or culture. It is a sense of the center of things. It's about our origins, the source from which we emerge and express. It's the fertile soil that gives birth to us. When I talk about a Black space, I mean understanding from a sense of where we come from.

As part of the Where We Come From, this poiesis is rooted in the African diaspora experience. As such, it operates on diunital cognition (both-and) rather than dichotomous cognition (either-or). The direction is parallel, rather than perpendicular or hierarchical. Naturally, the reality is more nuanced and complex than this definition, but I will say that this difference in ways of thinking is, in my experience, very real and often a source of conflict when that difference is not named or acknowledged.

Of course, there is also a feminine space, but I haven't given it as much thought, so I can't talk about how it fits at the moment. My intuition is that feminine space is related to how we create the space itself, but that's neither here nor there right now.

Let's give this framework a shape. A circle is rather fitting. Queerness would be the ever-shifting circumference, and Blackness would be the point at the center.

A more accurate visualization would be a sphere with a core of dark matter emanating colors that shift amorphously in all directions. In two-dimensional terms, however, picture it as a circle with a dark point at the center, with various colors and shades occupying the space in between.

"I just . . . do things!"

2011-05-12T12:45:00.000-04:00

Over at the Greener Room, I talk about paperless marketing for Tulpa, or Anne&Me. Although the word count limit didn't let me get into much detail, I think it's worth starting a discussion about asking questions about why we just . . . do some things.

This ties in neatly with the discussion happening at #2amt, we're talking about empowering people to bring innovative ideas and approaches to doing things. Of course, many of us may see the irony in that, since as theatre artists so much of what we do is about pushing artistic boundaries and challenging assumptions about what good theatre is. Nevertheless, when it comes to everything else we do in theatre, we often fall back on habitual ways of doing things - even if those ways simply don't work for us (here I'm imagining Adam Thurman sagely nodding his head and saying, "Exactly.").

Rather than agonizing over ways to convince other theatre artists that a different approach is worth doing, I think it's a lot more interesting and productive to encourage each other to ask questions. Not in a "We must get to the bottom of this!" sort of way but a "What's going on?" sort of way. TCG is doing that with their "What if . . . ?"

But we can also do that on our own and ask our own questions. For example: When we're putting on a show, what are some things we just . . . do? What would happen if we simply didn't . . . do? What would we be doing instead if we didn't or couldn't . . . do?

Come see "Tulpa, or Anne&Me" at Planet Connections Theatre Festivity

2011-05-04T23:50:00.005-04:00

Image designed by Chris Tyler

Just in case you forgot (not like I think you would), here's some info for the upcoming production of Tulpa, or Anne&Me at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity. Tickets are on sale now and are only $18.

We're at the Robert Moss Theater (440 Lafayette Street, Manhattan - right off the 6 train at Astor Place) on June 2 at 6pm, June 3 at 4pm, June 16 at 8pm, and June 19 at 8:15pm. The shows on June 2, 3, and 16 will have a post-show discussion.

CAST
[Name]: Starr Kirkland
Anne: Rachel Lambert
Guardian Angel of Blackness #1: Mia Y. Anderson
Guardian Angel of Blackness #2: Ayo Cummings

CREW
Assistant Director: Alexa Gruber

Set and Lights: Lauren Bremen
Marketing and Publicity: Chris Tyler
Video: Brianne Mueller and Phil Kegley

SPECIAL MENTION
The People's Institute for Survival and Beyond for the moral and practical support.

Ubiquitous Roots Productions for the space.

WHILE YOU'RE AT IT
I really want to check out Disenchanted and White House Wives: Operation Lysistrata. Anybody else gonna be there?

And follow the main character of Tulpa, or Anne&Me on Twitter! She's Afrodyke!

BTW, pass around the e-card to a friend (or ten).

reflections on narrative

2011-05-03T18:34:00.001-04:00

(SCENE: Cyberspace. Electricity flashes like many strobelights, as do many electronic images.)

Enter SELF #1. Devo's "Smart Patrol" starts playing. SELF #1 lip-synchs while playing air guitar and dancing like a jerk.

Enter SELF #2 pushing a baby doll in a stroller. She tries to feed it baby food.

SELF #2: C'mon, sweetheart, eat your spinach.

SELF #1: (singing) Understands my potato . . .

Enter SELF #3 wearing a trench coat. She squats on the stage and relieves herself.

SELF #2 keeps trying to feed the doll and gets baby food all over the doll's face.

SELF #2: What's wrong, honey? Why won't you eat your spinach?

SELF #3: I hate you all!

SELF #1: (singing) Looking for the real tomato . . .

SELF #3 pulls out a really big gun and shoots the audience.

SELF #2 forcefully shoves spoonfuls of baby food onto the doll's face.

SELF #2: I said eat it, damnit! Stupid fucking thing! I should've left you where I found you!

She rips the baby doll from the stroller and hurls it into the audience.

SELF #1: (singing) We shot the balls in the hole . . .

Enter SELF #4.

SELF #4: What were you expecting? A story? A narrative? A plot line? Such primitive tools are crutches for the feeble. Cast yourself into the sea of non-sequitur. Liberate yourself from all desire to make any sense. (singing to Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime") You may ask yourself well how did I get here?

SELF #1 plays the hell out of that guitar solo with her air guitar.

SELF #4: (singing) You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house? You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to? You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong? You may ask yourself, my God what have I done?

SELF #1 hits SELF #4 in the head with the guitar.

SELF #4: (singing) Same as it ever was same as it ever was same as it ever was same as it ever was. Same as it ever was same as it ever was same as it ever was same as it ever was.

SELF #4 dies.

SELF #1: What is my motivation?

SELF #1 takes a bow. Exit SELF #1.

Watch this video - Gay in America: Color Lines Across Rainbow Skies

2011-05-02T13:47:00.000-04:00

Xem Van Adams' Gay in America: Color Lines Across Rainbow Skies explores ethnic and racial divides in the LGBTQ community. It's a look at queerness that rarely get highlighted in mainstream media when it comes to LGBTQ people (who are always assumed to be affluent and White).

I love the emphasis on personal stories and reflections as opposed to a more academic or journalistic style. It humanizes the issues in ways that a more "objective" approach cannot.

on privilege in social justice circles

2011-05-01T10:43:00.000-04:00

We have heard entirely too much from men about women and gender, from whites about people of color, from heterosexuals about lesbians and gays and sexual preference, and from economically over-privileged people about workers and the poor. Claiming to be able to adopt the critical persona of the Other in the name of her emancipation is unlikely to earn one the applause of the Other.

Sandra Harding, "Reinventing Ourselves as Other" (American Feminist Thought at Century's End: A Reader)

Do you Tweet? Follow [Name]

2011-04-29T12:36:00.000-04:00

[Name], the main character of the play, Tulpa, or Anne&Me, is tweeting as Afrodyke. Talk about life imitating art. Follow her for conversation about movies, comics, books, and other nerdy interests.

Allan Johnson: Unraveling the Knot of Race

2011-04-28T14:49:00.000-04:00

LGBTQ erasure and the hunt for the elusive Good Black Man (TM)

2011-04-27T12:23:00.000-04:00

I don't normally talk about the intersections of race and sexuality that much. It's not for lack of awareness, but all too often, the commentary I make can be abused by people who don't know and/or don't care about the broader context. There are people who have a vested interest in seeing Black people as uniquely sexist, misogynist, and homophobic and would take what I say as ammunition to fire that charge. Being that I am Black and woman and queer, I would be less than thrilled if such a thing were to come about.

Cyberstalking trolls take note.

That said, I'd like to address a really persistent meme that keeps going around about Black women and what we want out of life. It goes like this: every Black woman is desperately searching for Good Black Man (TM) to make her life complete. Everything she is and everything she does is made to snag such a rare and elusive creature. He must (among other things):

make good money
have good looks
be Christian
have no Baby Mama Drama
love his mother without clinging to her
be straight

I'm not knocking anyone for having standards about what they're looking for in a life partner. But there's a stark difference between an individual sharing their desires and the sort of stuff that gets shoved at people as being important to the lives of all Black women. There's nothing wrong with straight Black women who want to start families with straight Black men who share their values and don't come with a lot of extraneous baggage. But when that's the only story that gets circulated? Then we have a problem.

In the case of the hunt for the rare and elusive Good Black Man (TM), it's a problem because the assumptions involved in that conversation cut out pretty much every Black person who is not cisgender and heterosexual. Oh, it's never as blatant as "no homos allowed," but not formally excluding Black LGBTQs is not the same as including Black LGBTQs. Saying, "I don't have a problem with the gay lifestyle" is not the same as inviting us into your space. There's a huge difference between a lack of overt hostility and the presence of welcoming.

Heteronormative assumptions about Black relationships used to not bother me. I used to take the attitude that the conversation was by and for straight Black people, and I didn't begrudge them that. Now it's starting to get to me, and I'm just starting to figure out why.

For a long time I couldn't articulate what irked me so much about it. Reflecting on experiences and conversations I've had about this, it's not merely the erasure of queerness. It's the fact that in order to contribute in these conversations - at least around straight people - I need to mute or dilute my queerness. I have to pretend that my queerness is ultimately a different flavor of heterosexuality. Unfortunately, that's not how I experience it.

Queerness is not just about who we want to fuck. It's also about the visceral relationship we have to gender and the nuances of how attraction and affection work for us while single or in a relationship. I am always queer no matter who I'm with or who I like. Even if I were to settle down with a man, I am still queer because I would relate to him as a man differently from the way straight women relate to men.

How can we have that Gotta Find A Good Black Man (TM) conversation in a way that's queer-inclusive? I honestly don't know. Maybe it starts with broadening our ideas about the relationships we can have with Black men. How about we stop focusing exclusively on romance? Think beyond boyfriends and husbands. What about Black men as fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, mentors, muses, students, peers, and (gasp!) friends?

More on being queer: required reading

2011-04-13T04:19:00.000-04:00

The Pressure of Being Expected to Know: Reflections on Sexual Fluidity and Sex- and gender-exclusivity in dating: What's that like then? at The Pursuit of Harpyness

Genderqueer tumblr

Why I call myself queer

2011-04-12T12:14:00.001-04:00

I don't often talk about my sexuality in great detail on my blog. It's not because I'm a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm intensely private about that aspect of myself, at least online. Like many women, I'm reluctant to say too much for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. And, to be blunt, my sexuality is one of those areas where I have zero patience or tolerance for other people's ignorant bullshit.

Labels, for instance.

I say queer because that's easier than saying, "I don't want to deal with your pre-/mis- conceptions about who I can fall in love/like/lust with and how that happens for me."

When I saw the Big Reveal in The Crying Game, I didn't get what the big deal was. In fact, I felt bad for Dill because of how Fergus reacted. In fact, I realized I was queer when I realized that a Crying Game moment would not be a dealbreaker in my attraction to someone.

My sexuality does not fit into neat little categories and patterns. I am not gay, lesbian, or bisexual. Pansexual/omnisexual don't fit either, and if bisexuals get a bad rap - well, at least people assume bisexuals are limited to humans. And if I never have to deal with, "Would you sleep with [random person/animal/inanimate object]?" followed by (when I say, "No." or "I don't know."), "But I thought you liked everything." Cue me explaining - again - that I cannot determine who I can love/like/lust based on gender alone. I won't even get into the conversation about pansexal and polyamorous not being the same thing.

So, I call myself queer. Because I don't want to fucking explain. And get this: I don't have to explain. Know why? Because whatever gender and sexuality hangups you have - that's your bullshit. It's only a problem for me because you can't keep it to yourself, which makes life difficult for me.

Seriously, why do you need to know? You want to have sex with me? You know someone I could hook up with? Are you insecure about your relationship to your partner and want to make sure I don't use my African Voodoo Pussy to steal them from you? Is there a Nice Jewish Boy/Girl/Noneoftheabove I should meet because you know we'd rock each other's worlds? No? Then why the fuck is any of this anybody's goddamn business? Again, refer to, "I don't want to deal with deconstructing your bullshit ideas about who I can love/like/fuck."

So, that's why I just say queer.

I'M SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS IN MY BRAIN!!!

2011-04-11T10:51:00.000-04:00

You know when I told you all about Tulpa, or Anne&Me getting a staged reading at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity?

Fate just turned me into a liar. And that's a good thing!

Over the weekend, my co-producer Sara and I found out that Planet Connections has full performance slots available to us. Read that again. Instead of a staged reading, we're moving up to an actual production. The reason why I'm telling you now is because Sara had to sleep on it, and I had to make sure I was awake. You ever have something so big happen to you so quickly that you don't know how to feel about it? That's where I am right now.

As you read on the Flux blog (You do read the Flux blog, right?) and saw on our IndieGoGo campaign, Tulpa is really doing something new both artistically and politically, so we're eager to bring it to life.

But a production also means that we need more money to pay for stuff like a stage manager, designers, tech people, rehearsal space, and set/props and such. We estimate a total cost of about $2,500 to make this production happen, as opposed to the $1,000 necessary for the staged reading. With an opening performance set for the first week of June, we don't have a lot of time to put that together.

There are 5 days still left on our IndieGoGo campaign, and there is no limit to the amount we can raise. We set a new goal to raise an additional $1,000 by this Friday to make the production of Tulpa a reality. It sounds like a lot, but if only 40 people donate just $25, we'll reach our goal. I get that money is tight, but every little bit you do means a whole lot- even if it's just telling a friend (or ten), posting about Tulpa on your blog, or linking to our IndieGoGo campaign via Twitter, Facebook, or what have you. Yes, yes, I know there's a lot of bold in this paragraph, but I can't emphasize this enough.

Dates, times, and venue for the performance TBA.

I can't wait to show you what we can do.

Thanks for your support everyone! This is way beyond what I dared to hope!

Tulpa is ALMOST there thanks to YOU!

2011-04-03T12:37:00.005-04:00

Everything you've done so far - big favors or small acts of kindness - is the reason why Tulpa, or Anne&Me has come this far. No matter what your role is in this project - artist, audience member, moral support or just a little help in the background - everything you do means a lot. I really appreciate everyone who's had a hand (or finger or toe) in making Tulpa possible.

Because of you, we have less than $150 to go! That's only 6 people donating just $25 each!

If Tulpa, or Anne&Me has touched your life in any way, please let people know by:

forwarding this e-mail to friends you think would be interested
connecting to RVCBard on Twitter
sending your ideas for the next phase of Tulpa, or Anne&Me
leaving comments on this blog or at Ars Marginal
telling a friend (or 10) about this crazy play you heard about/acted in/directed/contributed to
pitching a story or project related to Tulpa, or Anne&Me so we can get the word out
coming to the FUNraiser on April 9 so you can meet everyone and have a good time

Working on Tulpa, or Anne&Me has taught me something very important: to challenge my expectations. Most of the people contributing to Tulpa, or Anne&Me have not been artists or activists or academics, but regular people who've read the script or checked out Tulpa's IndieGoGo campaign and said, "Yes, this is what I need to see," or "Finally! Someone who's talking about this like a real person and not a pundit," or "Thank God! Someone understands!"

It cuts across age, income, and race. It gives me a lot of hope to see that the greatest hope for real change comes from everyday people like you.

I appreciate that, and I mean it.

ETA: WE DID IT!!!

Gus Schulenburg is awesome (and you can too!)

2011-03-27T00:52:00.000-04:00

Gus Schulenburg of Flux Theatre Ensemble made a post about Tulpa, or Anne&Me that reminds me why I love having him in my audience. While good reviews and full houses are great, what really excited me as a writer are the responses of thoughtful, engaged audience members - even if it's an audience of one. C'mon, look at this!

Tulpa, or Anne & Me suggests that we often see tulpas – creations of [our] own unconscious fears and desires - instead of the real flesh and blood human beings in front of us. To exorcise those spirits, we must be willing to really listen, take full ownership of our actions, and not turn away when we dig up the mandrakes of our souls.

That goes way beyond the thumbs up/thumbs down type of thing that so often passes for theatre criticism (which often read like consumer reports). Read the whole thing here.

Required reading

2011-03-24T12:28:00.000-04:00

This review of Limitless at Movies by Bowes.

White Woman Feminist, an essay by Marilyn Frye from Willful Virgin: Essays in Feminism.

Go After the Privilege, not the Tits: Afterthoughts on Amanda Wallace and White Female Privilege at Racialicious.

"Tulpa" needs YOU!

2011-03-21T15:59:00.003-04:00

A while back, I announced that Tulpa, or Anne&Me is getting a staged reading at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity this June.

I'm really grateful for everyone who's stuck by me through Tulpa's journey to this amazing opportunity. Your support has played a big part in keeping me focused and giving me the courage to move forward with this quirky little play. But to make this worthwhile, we need help.

We're trying to raise $1,000 for the event in order to cover the costs of production - the biggest one being rehearsal space and paying the artists a small stipend. Check out our IndieGoGo campaign for a better idea of what we're doing and why this stage is so important.

I did the math on this, and it's very doable. If we can get just 50 people to contribute only $20, we can meet our goal. All I'm asking is that if you can spare it, I'd really appreciate it (and you'll get a thanks from me). And if there is just one other person - just one person - you know who'd be willing to support Tulpa, or Anne&Me, please spread the word and let them know about it. It might not look or sound like much, but it does add up.

Thank you so much for being with me through all this. I really owe you one, and I'm going to do my damndest to pay you back.

we toot our horns, but only indoors (on networking as a minority theatre artist)

2011-03-21T14:12:00.002-04:00

I am the token black guy. I'm just supposed to smile and stay out of the conversation and say things like: "Damn," "Shit," and "That is whack."

Mariah MacCarthy has an awesome blog post about networking for playwrights. In the comments, I raised the issue of discomfort with self-promotion as a result of a sensibility I've been trained to acquire.

I need to explain that a bit more thoroughly and shed some light on ways to counteract that so that future attempts to include women, people of color, LGBTQ people, etc. don't fall flat when initiated by organizations that aren't specifically by and for us.

If you're a minority (of any kind), when you speak up, when you're passionate, when you're uncompromising about what matters to you, people don't see you as someone who cares deeply about something that matters. They don't see you as a change agent. They see you as uppity, strident, or a bitch. When you express yourself, you're not speaking truth to power; you're whining. You just have an ax to grind or a chip on your shoulder. If you're lucky, you only have to deal with social rejection from one person. If you're unlucky, you put your livelihood at stake. Who wants to take that chance every time they interact with someone?

The messed up thing is that it doesn't happen only when social justice issues get raised. Even being too forthright in mundane conversations elicits this response. If you talk too often or for too long, it can elicit this response. If you interrupt someone to make a point (even if it's warranted), it can elicit this response. So there are all these complex signals you have to make note of before you add your piece to things.

So what happens is that you learn to become hypervigilant about when, where, and how you speak - as well as to whom and what you say. You learn to listen for signs of safety and the invitation to share. I don't mean a simple gap of silence in a conversation so you can just add your two cents. I'm talking about a hint that they really want to hear what you have to say. It's a lot easier to navigate in person, but there are ways to do it online too. Nick Keenan, Adam Thurman, and Adam Szymkowicz have all done something I found really interesting when the discussion was women in the theatrosphere. They told us that they wanted to hear from us, and they let us speak. Keep that in mind because it's very important.

So, networking. I don't know about you, but one of the things I've learned about NYC is that if you want to find people, you have to go where they are. If you're looking to make more connections to women playwrights, playwrights of color, LGBTQ playwrights, and so on, you have to come to where we are. We're not hiding, but we are going to places where they make a space for us. As Nick, Adam, and Adam show, sometimes making that space is as simple as saying, "We want to hear from you."

Of course, I don't mean regurgitating insincere corporatespeak where they put the EEOC disclaimer on a job ad or say the word "diversity" on their website while not having that reflected in the corporate leadership or the corporate culture. In fact, I'm always deeply impressed when someone has the courage to admit, "We've noticed that we're not connected to many playwrights who are [whatever]. How can we improve? This is really important to us, so we really want to hear from you." A very important caveat: the "you" I mention here is not an organization, but individual playwrights.

Thus, our reluctance to toot our own horns is not for lack of something to say, but because every time we play our trumpet outside the neighbors about us disturbing the peace (or even call the cops). Invite us indoors, and we'll play your fucking ears off.

QBWL poiesis and Buber's "I and Thou"

2011-03-19T13:55:00.000-04:00

I've been working my way through Martin Buber's I and Thou. It is, shall we say, a challenging read, but it's riveting and thought-provoking nonetheless.

In a nutshell, there are two modes of existence: I-It and I-Thou. The I-It mode is bound by connections between things - ie, something as this, that, or the other. The I-Thou mode is a mutual relationship between subjects that are whole in themselves. These are not mutually exclusive; we inhabit both simultaneously.

As I was reading I and Thou, I recognized the ultimate goal of a queer Black womanist liberation poiesis - or, to be frank, the ultimate goal of social justice, period - to increase our capacity for expressing our I-ness and recognizing the You-ness of others.

Let me give you an example. In Tulpa, or Anne&Me, the I-You mode allows [Name] to relate to Anne as Anne instead of Anne only as actress, pretty, celebrity, female homo sapiens, feminist, Caucasian, and so on. At the same time (and this is important!), the I-You mode lets Anne relate to [Name] as [Name] and not just [Name] as web comic artist, African American, introverted, woman, queer, unknown, etc. At its most extreme, all sense of division dissolves, allowing for a relationship like that of Chuang Tzu and the butterfly.

In short, the I-You relationship makes it impossible to objectify people and therefore dehumanize them. It completely obliterates the ability to oppress and makes way for real freedom.

Later, I'll talk about the importance of voice to I-You.

Save the date: April 9 for Movie FUNraiser

2011-03-11T16:59:00.005-05:00

I've been really busy with Crossroads Theatre Project and the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity. If you're going to be in town, I'd really like to see you at the staged reading of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. If you've seen it and know some people who should see it too, please tell them - even if you can count them on one hand.

As we're gearing up for the reading, we're planning a FUNraising event to pay for rehearsal space. On the evening of Saturday, April 9 (let's say 8pm), we'll be screening a movie at Houndstooth Pub. The theme for the event will be girl power - movies with women in lead roles who don't need a man to be awesome. We're looking at showing

Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland,
Heathers (starring Winona Ryder and Christian Slater), or
Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof.

We'll choose the movie based on which one gets the biggest donation. So even if you can't be there, your vote will count! Simply click on the button below to donate:

Don't worry - this isn't going to be one of those "siddown and shaddup" movie-going experiences. You can laugh, talk at the screen, boo/hiss and otherwise act like a complete groundling with no culture at all.

It's going to be a lot of fun! Where else can you go out and catch a cool movie, drink beer, and meet great people at the same time?

I'd love to see you there and catch up on what you've been up to. Even if you can't be there, your support would mean a lot. Whether it's donating $10 or just letting 5 people know that beer and food and a movie will happen at the same place, every little bit helps, and I appreciate it.

Hope to see you in April (and also in June)!

(By the way, you can visit Off Book Market to get your own copy of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. Quite a few people have some great things to say about it.)

I interview myself

2011-03-11T16:09:00.001-05:00

I interview myself about Tulpa, or Anne&Me:

If the video doesn't play, check it out on YouTube.

Why do you have to bring [oppression] into it?

2011-03-10T17:36:00.001-05:00

CultureBot's Jeremy M. Barker has this to say about politics and playwriting (h/t Parabasis):

Most contemporary plays are very essayistic like this; given the homogeneity of the typical theater artist and audience, we know that a play that starts off about war will have something bad to say about it, that a play that engages with gay issues will be pro-gay. (Someone please name me the last big pro-war or anti-gay play you saw professionally produced.) In this typology, the “narrative,” which is essentially the entire play being produced, exists to narrate a series of points that makes the predictable ending impactful, which we charitably still refer to as catharsis.

I'm getting the weirdest sense of deja vu.

I'm having a bit of trouble understanding what is meant by political. I can't really separate politics from aesthetics because politics has a huge influence on aesthetics. How we define good, beautiful, and true has a lot to do with who holds systemic power.

I can agree that sometimes what we call political theatre can be simplistic and preachy, but that has more to do with the fact that it's simplistic and preachy and not that it's overtly political. It's one reason why I can no longer stomach Tyler Perry's work.

I can understand the limitations of constructing a fictional reality around a specific point of view. But what I'm finding it hard to understand is why it's a problem for artists to claim their own subjectivity, such as Josh does for MilkMilkLemonade or what I do for Tulpa, or Anne&Me.

But Joshua Conkel makes a good point when he responds:

I see his point, but I also resent it a little. I might have written a pro-gay play in MilkMilkLemonade, for example, and I'm sure people know straight away that it's a pro-gay play. That said, I don't think anybody knows from the start of the play exactly WHAT I'm going to say about gayness or HOW exactly I'm going to get there. Just because you know a play will be pro gay before you watch it, doesn't mean that it's pro gayness is a spoiler alert. You still have no idea specifically what the playwright is going to say on the subject or how he/she will take you there.

What I see happening in the Barker quote seems to minimize and devalue such work as being "merely" about issues. It's a very insidious form of erasure. Like Josh, I do find it a tad insulting because it positions the struggles that affect our lives as something inconsequential (or rather, inconsequential compared to its entertainment or aesthetic value). Just as the personal is political, the political is also personal. And since art is, at least initially, very personal, I cannot separate my personal self from my political self from my artistic self. I simply don't have the luxury.

The irony of this sentiment, of course, is that the very people who see themselves as separate from and immune to certain kinds of narratives (and political ones at that - ie, who deserves to be in power) are the ones who consume, benefit from, and perpetuate limited narratives themselves. When a story comes from one's experiences as a woman, a person of color, and/or a queer person (to name but a few things), it's pushing an agenda; it's too political; it's not something people can relate to. Yet somehow, I'm supposed to understand the trials and struggles of the King of England or the founder of Facebook as a universal human experience.

Um, OK. If you say so.

ETA: Barker responded while I was posting this.

What never happned: meeting Anne Hathaway

2011-03-04T21:09:00.001-05:00

I made a YouTube video. Check it out (or click here if it doesn't act right).

Crossroads Theatre Project on the web (for real)!

2011-03-03T15:33:00.000-05:00

Crossroads Theatre Project now has a website. Check it out here.

Yes, it's ugly. Yes, it's made with a free service (more or less), but it's mine. At the very least, when the site gets updated, you'll have an idea of what's going to be on it.

Next up: making a blog.

"Tulpa, or Anne&Me" at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity!!!

2011-03-01T00:40:00.001-05:00

Great news! Tulpa, or Anne&Me was selected for a staged reading at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity this June. Date is pending, but we'll be performing at the Gene Frankel Theatre. If you haven't seen it yet, please check it out. If you have seen it, check it out anyway because quite a bit has changed since the reading last June and in November.

If we can raise $1,000, it would really help us get enough rehearsal time to pull of a polished staged reading. At this phase of production, generous contributions like yours are crucial to finding the best people and spaces to work with. Every little bit - $20, $50, even $100 - helps a lot. You will also be listed on our playbill once we get a date and time for the performance. All you have to do is click the donate button below.

If you can't be there for the reading, you can get your own copy of the script for only $5. Visit Off Book Market to get it today. Quite a few people have some great things to say about it.

Don't forget to pass the collection plate via Twitter and/or a blog post!

updating how i describe "Tulpa, or Anne&Me"

2011-03-01T00:39:00.001-05:00

I've revised the way I describe Tulpa, or Anne&Me. Not because it was bad, per se, but because I found a better way to do it. Strangely (or rather, not so strangely), I found my inspiration from how people pitch films.

Here's the new blurb . . .

Tulpa, or Anne&Me is a full-length play about how racism affects our relationships.

Our heroine is a nerdy, introspective, lesbian African American artist whose life gets turned upside down when Anne Hathaway crawls out of her television.

During a series of Anne's surreal visitations, we watch them become good friends, which leads them to really start looking at how race impacts their lives as women, as friends, and as human beings. With the help of two outspoken imaginary friends, she relives feelings and experiences she's kept hidden even from herself, until now. We follow her efforts to express these things to Anne so there can be real intimacy between them. At the same time, we witness Anne struggle to understand where she fits in that process in order to be a true friend and confidante to the heroine.

Throughout the play we are challenged to go beyond the rhetoric and confront race from the truth of who we are.

Am I missing something here?

fezzik on hostility and privilege

2011-02-26T02:22:00.000-05:00

Fezzik? You mean Andre the Giant from The Princess Bride?
I recently replaced my copy of The Princess Bride DVD, and for some reason when I watched it, I really identified with Fezzik. I even looked up some tropes to figure out what made Fezzik so compelling. It wasn't until I reflected on a few recent interactions that I made the connections.

At one point in time (until fairly recently, if you follow this blog fairly regularly), one of the things that consistently irritated and saddened me when it came to That Conversation was when people would accuse me of a hostility that I didn't feel. Vehement, yes. Passionate, yes. Intense, definitely. But never hostile. There was nothing malevolent about anything I said, yet I kept being treated as though I was pretty much telling people to go die in a fire, even though I feel I exercise great restraint compared to what I've witnessed in other people. It's pretty confusing and frustrating to deal with, especially when you see other people say far worse without getting called on it.

For the longest time, I thought it was simply derailing or projecting the Angry Black Woman stereotype onto me because I spoke my mind without going my way to express myself in a conciliatory or equivocating way so as not to offend people more privileged than me (ie, not all White people, not all men, I don't mean you, etc.).

But now I believe there is more going on than that.

Back to Fezzik
Here you have this character, a giant, with immense physical power, who has to be careful with how he navigates the world around him lest he cause harm to others. I am like this when it comes to words. Whether I intend it or not, the words I use carry tremendous power. You would think that'd be obvious, but it really isn't. Unlike Fezzik, a good chunk of the time, I literally don't know my own strength. I never thought of myself or the way I expressed myself as particularly powerful. Truth be told, I'm very introverted (almost withdrawn) and rather shy (especially around people I don't know well). Nevertheless, a love tap from Natalie Portman wouldn't feel the same as a love tap from George Foreman. So I've resolved to be a bit more careful in my approach, or at the very least give fair warning.

I honestly don't know what to feel about this. On the one hand, it's always good to affirm something empowering about yourself. As someone who faces marginalization due to race, gender, sexuality, and class, it's hard not to internalize the barrage of messages telling me how powerless I am (and how good it is that I remain so). It's difficult to describe what kind of effort that takes, but it's very similar to what survivors of abuse go through.

On the other hand, it sucks that something that should be positive - in this case, a power with words - becomes a liability because of those same forces that seek to undermine my sense of my own power, even as embodied in the same people who endeavor to oppose those forces.

Power versus privilege
It's quite a paradox. But that's how it goes for pretty much any empowering trait coming from marginalized people. Any attempt to claim your own power without paying your dues (so to speak) is always met with resistance. Speaking intelligently, and with passion and clarity, without apology, is not praiseworthy in anyone except well-off straightwhitedudes.

Don't believe me? Go to any social justice blog or website (like this one) where a marginalized person states an opinion without coddling the privileged. You won't have to dig very deep to find somebody acting like that person just said, "FUCK OFF AND DIE MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Even if the "meanie" is responding to something fucked up that someone else said. Even if that person does not use all caps or any exclamation points. Even if that person does not make a direct accusation against anyone.

If you're feeling up to it, try prodding a bit. Say something like, "Really? Where did s/he say that?" If you don't get a bunch of projections and assumptions and conjecture, you'll get them saying something about the tone*. Note who it comes from. I'm willing to bet money that a good chunk of the time, when someone objects to "tone"**, it's coming from a place of privilege.

* That's not to say anybody from a marginalized identity has a carte blache to be an asshole. But they don't have to be polite to you when you reinforce ugly shit. When it comes to the deliberately obtuse or willfully ignorant, my personal preference is to say something sarcastic then disengage.

** If the bulk of your objection can be, "Watch your tone," please don't say it. It's what you say to disobedient children, not adults who you presume to treat with respect. Even if you think they're being immature, don't say it. If the issue you're talking about is important to you, and the person you're talking to is someone whom you otherwise respect, it's not worth destroying that to take a few pot shots at them.

So what now?
Speaking for myself, it would help a great deal to ask rather than assume. It's pretty hard to read intent on the internet at the best of times, so it would probably not be remiss to clarify before proceeding. Even - scratch that - especially if you think you know what's going on. There are tons of conversations that could have saved a lot of turmoil had myself or other participants simply asked about where everyone was coming from before rushing to attack or defense. And when it comes to discussing power and privilege and oppression and the myriad forms they take, it comes at a great cost to the people on the shit end of that stick.

Rep. Gwen Moore (D-WI) describes life without Planned Parenthood

2011-02-22T15:37:00.001-05:00

If you see Justin Bieber, let him know about this:

Note how our Congress reveals its contempt for poor people (especially poor people of color). Hey, Josh!

And Bloomberg is worried about poor folks buying soda!

Voice, critique, and QBWL poiesis

2011-02-17T18:13:00.003-05:00

A couple of days ago, I gave this response to my viewing of Flux Theatre Ensemble's production of Dog Act, and through that I placed voice as the central element of this paradigm. Gus, being the generous, thoughtful guy he is, responded with this post at the Flux blog. Here's a snippet that I found particularly interesting:

Often, the critical response focuses on the form and execution of the play, and rarely on what the play is actually about. Shawn's post is a nice reminder (Sean Williams' response to Lesser Seductions is another example) of how satisfying that difference can be.

It's interesting that he found that most noticeable about what I wrote. Honestly, it comes naturally to me. I've never really understood the need to come into a theatrical experience carrying a sort of Platonic Ideal Of Great Art that all individuals works must measure up against in order to ascertain their worthiness. I pretty much do my best to experience a piece on its own terms (or at least admit my own warped sensibilities - such as finding most horror movies hilarious). As a result, I tend to enjoy most of what I see on some level, even if that means I get more out of it by what I bring to it than what's actually there.

For instance, one of the things my mom and I like to do together is go see a movie every Sunday. Yes, every Sunday. When there was still a video store nearby, we'd also rent videos to watch on a weeknight. Mom and I are not what you would call passive consumers. Part of the fun is responding to what we're seeing.

* We'd be great to have on DVD commentaries. Imagine watching a horror film, where the virginal female lead is going back into the house to look for the monster/killer/alien/ghost, and then hear someone say, "Look at this ignorant motherfucker."

To be honest, we've had more fun talking about movies with no redeeming aesthetic value than by watching critically acclaimed films with Academy Award Winner already plastered on the Special Edition DVD packaging. I think it has something to do with being broke. When you can't afford to waste money, you're going to do whatever you can to make your entertainment worthwhile, even if you have to add it yourself.

Which brings us back to the star/thumb/grade model of reviewing. Very often, they read more like consumer reports than the reactions of a real human being communicating their experience of a film or theatrical performance. In and of itself there's nothing wrong with it, but we need more than one way to engage with the work that's out there. But how can we go about doing that in a way that does more than say something like, "I enjoyed the costumes"?

Allow me to take a detour. It'll seem out of nowhere, but it's actually closely related to what I'm getting at here.

If you pay attention to business and marketing trends, there are a couple of themes that keep cropping up lately. The first is authenticity. The second is distinction. The struggle for businesses these days is not to be the biggest and baddest mofos on the market, but to be the little guys everyone roots for because what they do is different and interesting and important. With so much out there bombarding you day in and day out, what's going to grab and hold your attention? The things that have something of substance to communicate in an interesting way.

It has nothing to do with technical proficiency or special effects. Flux Theatre Ensemble will never do a straight-up production of Spiderman, Turn Off the Dark. Just as Nosedive Productions is unlikely to do slice-of-life naturalistic stuff that takes itself way too seriously. There's more to distinction than simply, say, everyone dying their hair purple or speaking Klingon. Those are simply gimmicks. It might work for a time, but if what's beneath it is the same thing that's beneath more conventional fare, it'll be treated just like any other distraction.

In the same vein, voice is not simply style, although style is (or at least should be) directly linked to it. The ways people speak in Dog Act and Finding Harlem Dawn differ from the ways we speak in everyday life. There's more to voice than words, though. It includes every aspect of a performance. And that means something about the worlds these plays invite us to inhabit, which, simply in the act of contrast, says something about the world we live in today.

But there's more to voice than what we put out there. It's also what we bring to it. In today's market, the difference between success and failure is not quality and/or price, but what a product or service or company says about who buys it. People don't buy your stuff because of what you say about it, but because of what buying from you says about themselves. Where have we seen a point like this before? Oh yeah, in theatre!

The audience doesn't come to see you. They come to see themselves.

--somebody important

So the thing I'm interested in exploring with you is: what are the questions we need to ask when responding to a work from a position of making voice primary rather than something tacked on after plot, character, and spectacle?

Dog Act and the power of naming

2011-02-15T03:52:00.001-05:00

I recently had the chance to see Flux Theatre's production of Dog Act. Long story short, you should go see it while it's still playing (until Sunday, I believe).

There are plenty of people giving great reviews for Dog Act. I don't believe I can add much that hasn't already been said, so I encourage you to read those for a good idea of what works in the play and why.

Instead, I'd like to connect Dog Act to my ongoing project: a queer Black womanist liberation poiesis.

I think it took actually seeing theatre to solidify some of the more nebulous ideas that have been floating around in my head for a while. It's already been established why it's necessary to have a queer Black womanist liberation poiesis (yes, even for straightwhitedudes). What has been fuzzy thus far is what such a poiesis would look like.

The comments in this thread touch what I think is something that will (hopefully) become a major breakthrough somewhere down the line. Ursula K. Le Guin hints at possibilities in her essay, A Non-Euclidean View of California as a Cold Place to Be. From an aesthetic point of view, I can see the poiesis I'm trying to create veering towards yin.

[...] we must return, go round, go inward, go yinward. What would a yin utopia be? It would be dark, wet, obscure, weak, yielding, passive, participatory, circular, cyclical, peaceful, nurturant, retreating, contracting, and cold.

--Ursula K. Le Guin, A Non-Euclidean View of California as a Cold Place to Be

Speaking of circular, back to Dog Act.

In Dog Act, the voices at the end of the world sound like the voices at the beginning (at least, the beginning according to how Americans reckon it, during that once upon a time in the Old West when there was a guy named Shakespeare and everybody talked funny).

As such, the dominant aesthetic element of a queer Black womanist liberation theatre is neither plot nor character, but voice. Of course, voice is not merely what is said out loud (or rendered into words via ink or pixels). It's the unique expressions of those experiences, memories, dreams, fears, and hopes that root individuals to the source(s) of themselves. Plot, character, theme, spectacle - all these are but aspects of the voice.

Even as all the characters in Dog Act share a similar situation on both a local and global scale, they each have very different voices, from the fuck-laden quasi-Shakespearean tongue of the scavengers, Zetta's straight-outta-movies Old West talk, the ambiguous veracity of Vera Similitude, Dog's plain English plus canine, to Jo-Jo's twitchy and manic storytelling style that's part doberman and part spark plug.

The most potent use of voice is the power of naming. Through naming, we not only identify but manifest what is possible. Naming, of course, is not a moral process. Its power can be used for good and/or ill, to oppress and/or to liberate. An oppressive use of naming acts as power over - especially as manifest as power over others. A liberating use of naming is more like power of - especially as manifest as power of oneself. In Dog Act, for instance, there is power over dogs but power of story. It's a subtle but crucial distinction. Both in the play and in life, power over brings ignorance, enslavement, and suffering, whereas power of leads to the potential for wisdom, freedom, and happiness.

Yet there is more to voice than naming. Or is there? Let's try this exercise. Take the word "spoon." Now imagine it from the point of view from each of the following:

Someone who collects rare antique spoons
Someone who was regularly spanked with a spoon as a child
Someone who has no spoons
Someone who makes spoons
Someone who eats with their hands

Another exercise. This time let's use the word "dog" and examine it from the perspectives of:

Someone attacked by a police dog during a civil rights demonstration
Someone who had many beloved canine pets
Someone raised by wolves
Someone allergic to dogs
Someone who eats dogs

Now what do you get?

So we come to another aspect of voice, something I'll call resonance. Resonance is linked to the associations people make to their named experiences. For example, a person who has nothing but contempt for canines would not say "dog" the same way as one who truly believes them to be man's best friend. And they certainly would mean something different when they called a person a dog. Say, "Men are dogs!" vs. "You're my dog, man!"

What makes voice really interesting, though, is when one act of naming creates two or more areas of resonance. People who've been attacked by dogs have also had them as beloved pets. People allergic to dogs may also admire them. Consider how often the love-hate relationship (romantic or otherwise) features in contemporary media.

But there's more to voice than either naming or resonance. It's something more internal, which I am too tired to name properly at the moment, but has something to do with the nature and temperament of the individual who shares similar frames of resonance. An impulsive, aggressive person who's been bitten by a dog would react differently to a strange dog wandering the street than one who is patient to the point of passivity.

Both resonance and this other thing I'm talking about are not limited to characters. It includes every person involved in the process of creating the performance - actors, directors, writers, designers, and even the audience.

So this is where it gets really tricky: How do we unify all these elements into a single voice? Is that even desirable?

Continuing that Conversation (or: White people, we need to talk)

2011-02-07T04:58:00.000-05:00

The most important thing to remember
Transgressive discourse is difficult, even for people who know what those words mean without looking them up. I'm not asking anyone who comments on this post to agree, but at the very least acknowledge and respect the difficulty of the task and not undermine my purpose for doing it. This is not merely a stimulating discussion for me. This is a purpose that has grown from experiences that have shaped every aspect my my entire life. Part of that is speaking candidly about things that I've been trained to be silent about. I am bringing a great deal of myself to bear in this - even the ugly and messy parts - not merely the stuff that makes for a lively conversation. Every time I endeavor to have That Conversation, I am going against my programming. Every time I speak on this issue, I do so despite what I've been taught rather than because of it. Every time I talk to you (I mean you reading this right now), I'm speaking through the pain and fear and sadness and exhaustion to reach you. I still have hope.

Do not make this hope be misplaced.

Owning my shit

I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate [...] Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

-- MLK, Letter from a Birmingham Jail

I'm a queer Black woman who grew up in the South, so everything I say is coming from that experience. That's not to say other experiences are less important, but I've found that trying to speak for everyone means that I wind up not saying much at all. As a queer Black woman who grew up in the back yard of the capital of the Confederacy, here are a few life lessons I picked up along the way. I'm not saying they're good, or even right, but it's what I bring to That Conversation.

It's far easier to deal with an honest bigot than with Well Meaning White Liberals.
Most White women cannot be trusted with anything important - not my beliefs, not my values, not my feelings, not my humanity.
Black men often love but do not respect Black women.
Black women are often better at hating Black women than either White people or men.
White people do not know how to treat Black women with both respect and compassion; it has to be one or the other - pity or fear.
To most everyone except other Black women, to be Black and a woman (not merely female) is an oxymoron.
In every interaction with White people, I am on guard for racial microaggressions they don't even know they perpetuate.
My deepest and most enduring scars come from ignorance and indifference, not hatred.
A lot of people really do believe that a Black woman's life is a public service.
White people (particularly White men) need to be right, even if it makes them do wrong.
By and large, I am afraid of White people (especially White women).

Where I'm coming from

We renounce no friendship. But it may be the part of a friend to rebuke a friend's folly.

--JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion

About 2 weeks ago, I did a post on having That Conversation, where I laid down some guidelines on how to make That Conversation one that's worth having. I included a lot of stuff applicable to anyone who is participating in That Conversation. But now I want to focus on White folks for a minute because, in my experience, when That Conversation turns to shit, it's because of something a White person said.

I'm not talking about one of Those Other White People, either. I'm talking about White people who live in blue states, have dartboards with Glenn Beck's picture on them, march and protest against issues that harm people of color, and even maintain anti-racist blogs. But that doesn't stop you from fucking up.

Telling you that you're fucking up is not about hating you. It's not about making you feel guilty or ashamed of being White. Guilt-ridden and shame-filled White people are fearful White people. Fearful White people are angry White people. Angry White people have never been good news for Black people. Also, it doesn't make any sense. White guilt does not improve my situation in the least. As a matter of fact, it's more likely to make it worse because resentment doesn't live too far away from guilt.

As I said before, I'm not in this as a way of improving human relations. I am not from the Can't We All Just Get Along School of Racial Justice. I'm in this to transform society. This is my way of doing that: by changing the ways we relate to one another everyday without even thinking about it (see above). It has nothing to do with Good Guys and Bad Guys duking it out for the Fate of the World. It's about making our homes, families, neighborhoods, cities, and world a better place for everyone, including those who are not straight, White, and/or male. It's about becoming the change we want to see.

Oftentimes, having That Conversation with White people is like having an alcoholic in your family. You can't keep mopping up the puke, washing out the piss, making excuses for why they miss work, or explaining away destructive or abusive behavior because they were so drunk. You love them, and they're wonderful when they're sober, but things can't go on like this. Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do for them is to stop enabling them. Sometimes, the loving thing to do is hold them accountable for what they do. Sometimes, you show someone you love them by telling them what they don't want to hear. That's the point where I'm at now when it comes to That Conversation.

Think the alcoholism metaphor is a stretch? It isn't.

What almost never happens
Let me tell you about an encounter I had in a grocery store. I was picking up a few ingredients for the dish I was bringing to the next Community Dish meeting. Grocery Store Dude and his girlfriend(?) Grocery Store Chick were standing in the aisle chatting right next to the canned tomatoes, which I needed to look at to find what I was looking for. The guy tells me to go around them. I say, "Actually, I needed to get these," reaching for the petite diced tomatoes, and make my way. I am genuinely upset by this because I do not go out of my way to be rude to people. In fact, I'm usually excessively polite even when someone doesn't deserve it (like a neighbor playing loud ass techno at 2AM on a weeknight). My roommate -- one of the geekiest-looking, Starbucks-drinking, Macbook-carrying, NPR-listening, most good-natured Wonderbread motherfuckers you'll ever meet -- has cursed out more people than I have. I tend to internalize a lot of my aggravations and irritations. So Grocery Store Dude is now Entitled Asshole. I'm trying to shop, and this shit has been bothering me. Now I get in the line, and I see GSD/EA.

ME: Excuse me? Sir?
HIM: Sir? Who? Me?
ME: Yeah. Do you have any idea how rude you were to me back there.
HIM: Rude to you? What did I do?
ME: I was trying to get a can of diced tomatoes. You were talking to your lady, who just happened to be in the way, and you gave me some smartassed one-liner.
HIM: Oh. I didn't mean anything by it. I apologize.
ME: Thank you.

Now he's Grocery Store Dude again. I leave feeling a lot better because I stood up for myself and had my experience acknowledged and validated.

If only it happened like this with That Conversation.

Whenever I have That Conversation with a White person, and I talk about a particular kind of behavior that I see a lot in White people and what that says to me as a queer Black woman, it almost never leads to a White person saying, "Damn, I do that. I thought I was [doing something else] but looking at it that way, yeah, that's kinda messed up. Hey, if I ever did that to you, my bad. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I'll be a lot more careful about this from now on."

What often happens is some variation of, "Fuck you! I'm not racist! I majored in African American studies! I fucked a Black person once! I voted for Obama! I watch Tyler Perry movies! I adopted an African baby! How DARE you call me racist!"

Wanna know how many times I actually called someone racist when having That Conversation? Zero. Even in the rare instances when I directly said, "Soandso is racist," I was talking about Mel Gibson, Dr. Laura, and that guy 99Seats cursed out last year.

What you usually do -- and what it does to me

When you grow in a racist, patriarchal, homophobic, classist, sexist culture your way of thinking becomes infused with ideas that are necessarily counter to freedom and basic human respect. Even the most conscious amongst us will continually revert to patterns of behaviour, thought, or speech, that are counter to our stated beliefs. Due to a constant desire to privilege our experience and our existence over another often we do not even recognize these lapses.

--Womanist Musings, "Get Your 101 On"

When you do things like this, you look a lot like Oedipus. Trying to avoid a prophecy, he does everything that makes him wind up killing his dad, fucking his mom, and gouging his eyes out. Despite all his efforts not to be called a patricidal motherfucker, that's exactly what he became.

We're storytellers here in theatre blogosphere, so let's tell a story.

You are an actor. You've got your MFA from Yale. You did Juilliard. You were personally instructed by The Great So And So. Finally, those years of preparation paid off! You've been cast in the lead role for a new play by Hot New Playwright. Throughout rehearsals, you're thinking and reading about this character. You are really living this role. You even keep a diary from the character's point of view. On opening night, you give your performance. There is applause. The next day, you read a review in The Village Voice, and the critic has slammed your performance. He calls it cliche, self-indulgent, and lifeless. All that work, and this what he has to say! Who the fuck does he think he is? Does he have an MFA in Acting from Yale? Did he go to Juilliard? Did this asshole study with The Great So And So? Did they keep a daily diary from the character's point of view? Did he see how the audience responded to you? No! So fuck him and his bullshit plebe aesthetics (hi, Josh). But those voices are still in your head. Am I really any good, or am I just fooling myself? Did I truly give a compelling performance? Was my audience engaged with how I portrayed this character? Were they just clapping to be polite? What if The Village Voice is right? What if I failed? Will I be able to land a leading role ever again? Am I really any good?

If this fictional performance were the same as That Conversation, the actor would have rallied the other actors in the show, gone to the critic's birthday party, cornered his at the bar, shoved his resume in the critic's face, and demanded a public apology for the unflattering review (complete with groveling, preferably on broken glass).

Really, White people, what do you expect to happen when a person of color tells you that something you did smelled a little fishy?

THEM: That shit you just did sorta raised my racism red flags.
YOU: What the hell are you talking about? I [insert Not A Racist Credentials].
THEM: Oh. Well, now that you put it that way, forget everything I said. It was completely baseless. Carry on.

Want me to shut the fuck up right quick? Act like you have nothing to learn about racism. Want me to stop talking to you? Keep doing it. Don't be fooled. It's not because you convinced me with the power of your argument. It's because you've proven that you cannot be trusted with That Conversation. Frankly, it leaves me with the pain of being silenced and doesn't mean a fucking thing to whoever does this. It's very difficult to describe what it feels like to be on the receiving end of this. How about I share an experience of mine? One of the few cases in my life where I burst into tears in front of a crowd of people and started crying uncontrollably was when White person (a sociology major!) told me (about racism, mind you), "We already know this stuff."

I am incapable of responding rationally to that shit. When you do shit like that, this is one of the things you're triggering for me. The response would be similar to what you would get if you told a sexual assault survivor that you know about rape and sexual abuse because you used to work at RAINN. If that's not what you're going for, don't do this to me. If you have done this to me, you probably owe me an apology because you hurt me more than you think you did and definitely more than I trust you enough to tell you.

(And before somebody jumps down my throat about not comparing the trauma of racism to the trauma of sexual abuse, do not fucking go there. I speak from experience, and that's all the fuck you need to know.)

Just tell us what to say! Tell us what to do!

The problem of course with White men is we've just got to have an answer. We never just say, "Hmm, I dunno, let's look that up. [...] We're the authority. "I'll tell you even though what I'm telling you is total crap."

--Tim Wise (at 1:21:10)

As HAL 9000 would say, "I can't do that, Dave."

Which of the following is more likely?

A. I'm deliberately keeping this information secret.
B. I don't know what I'm talking about when it comes to race.
C. I lack the drive to find out how.
D. There are no simple rules or simple answers.

In case you were wondering, the answer is D.

I have a vested interest in getting White people to stop doing some of the shit I talked about before. I have a powerful, personal stake in White people getting a fucking clue. If there is a magic combination of words and body language that would get you to that point where I can talk about racism with you and not worry about when you're going to fuck it up, I would use it. Trust me on this.

On "false accusations" of racism

Sometimes, even after you’ve given it serious thought, you’ll come to the conclusion that a criticism was unfair. Great! Now please let it go. Don’t insist that everyone agree with you. Don’t enlist the people of color in the room to certify you as Officially Non-Racist. Don’t bring it up again and again, weeks or months after everyone else has forgotten about the original discussion.

--Ampersand, How Not To Be Insane When Accused of Racism

You would think that, for a White person, the main question they have about participating in That Conversation would be: How do I not fuck this up?

But it's not.

The question they usually want answered is: What do I do if a person of color -- fuck it, let's be honest -- what do I do if one of those evil loudmouthed Black bitches says that I did something racist?

I honestly don't get this. I mean, if I were cleaning your house or cooking soul food, you'd listen to me about without a problem. But when it's That Conversation, suddenly everything I say is suspect? When it's That Conversation, White people seem ready and eager to write us off as crazy, stupid, lazy, and/or evil. It won't be those words, of course. But that's what the arguments would boil down to.

It sucks to be accused of doing shit you didn't do. Nobody's denying that. Innocent Black people have been accused of wrongdoing too, with consequences way more serious than our feelings getting hurt (Ask my uncle why he doesn't have front teeth). I had a classmate in middle school (a White girl) threaten to kick my ass because someone else played a prank on her and said I stole something from her purse. So I know what it's like to be accused of doing stuff I didn't do and made to feel unsafe because of it.

Yet, sometimes I do the wrong thing. Sometimes I'm careless. Sometimes I hurt people. I don't mean to. I'm not a sadist. It still happens, though. At that point, my responsibility is to acknowledge the impact of my actions, not to defend my honor or prove my innocence.

The vast majority of the time, that's what a "false accusation" of racism is -- someone reminding you that what you just said or did brought something hurtful, even harmful, to their interaction with you. At that point, it's not about That Conversation being productive for you but for you not causing pain to another human being.

And that's what it's all about, really -- being better at being whole human beings. It's hard to do that when we keep playing the same roles and the same rules.

Why queer Black womanist liberation poiesis matters to straight White dudes doing theatre

2011-01-31T22:06:00.004-05:00

Earlier I talked about why you should care what queer Black women have to say. Now I'm going to talk about why a queer Black womanist liberation poesis matters to the people who seem most diametrically opposed to it, at least in principle - (presumably straight - but in theatre it matters a bit less) White men.

But first, a slight detour to provide a little context. Isaac is asking who the greatest living playwright of the English language is. Coming right on the heels of That Coversation, this seems a particularly intriguing juxtaposition. How many of us would be surprised if most, if not all, people on that list were White and/or male? Are we then to assume that the reason why we don't come across more Great Works of Theatre by women and/or people of color is because they simply can't hack it? If not, then what is it about our criteria for determining quality that makes it highly unlikely that a woman or a person of color (or - gasp! - a woman of color!!!) would appear on anyone's top ten lists for The Greatest?

It would be easy to dismiss this as a matter of taste, and I've often done just that. The fact of the matter is that in the world we live in, theatre is dominated by the tastes of well-off White dudes. There are already so many stories about how wonderful, special, and unique White men are (and how lucky we are that they're in charge!). But we already knew that. In my more cynical and self-doubting moments (which are more frequent than this blog makes apparent), I can get pretty down on myself for not being eager and/or able to make works supporting that fact. I can feel guilty and ashamed of myself because my energies are not spent toward silencing and erasing myself from my own stories. Yet this seems to be the exact reason why simply throwing up our hands and saying it's a matter of taste is the wrong way to go about it. It leaves the current system the way it is and limits opportunities for finding new ways of knowing and expressing - of being in the world.

I understand the desire to understand "pure" art uncontaminated by messy, chaotic life and dirty, nasty politics. I'm afraid that's impossible. Art for art's sake is dead, if it ever existed in the first place. This is especially true of theatre because it is the art form most intimately connected to life as it is lived (internally as well as externally). So, for me, discussing quality without addressing liberation is not wrong so much as incomplete.

Art does not need to serve a political agenda to be art. However, politics is a part of the human condition. I don't mean politics in the terms of law and government and policy, but in the terms of the power dynamics between people. As the art form that is, at its core and without exception, about people, theatre is - from initial concept to final curtain - innately political, even if particular political concepts and buzzwords are never uttered in the piece.

Personally, I believe that liberation is the most important act an individual or society can participate in. With various systems of oppression still in place, ideals like justice and freedom remain much too far out of reach for way too many people. Without justice and freedom, much of what we do is ultimately arbitrary and meaningless. I'm not here to convert anyone or convince anybody to agree, but if you want to understand how I define quality, you need to know this about me.

When I talk about liberation, I'm talking about what Chimamanda Adichie mentions in "The Danger of a Single Story." I'm talking about the power of stories to shape lives. The stories we tell to and about one another define the possibilities and limitations we accept for ourselves. As such, stories are absolutely vital to the process of liberation - from exploring the things that imprison us to giving us visions of liberated selves.

That's not to say I don't appreciate craft, but there needs to be more than that. I'm remembering a visit I made to Miya Shoji a few months ago. Looking at the shoji screens and tables and other furnishings, I saw more than craftsmanship. There was more to what's going on than the smoothness of a table's surface or the way parts fit together without using a single nail or screw. I saw creations inhabited by the values of a people. I saw a process informed by history and language and culture. I saw simplicity, elegance, a reverence for natural harmony. Yet each piece was vastly different from the others, even those of the same type, not by surface distinctions such as color or shape, but by the approach to these ideas. This was a liberated space - a space where each piece could freely be itself for itself, a space where each piece is appreciated because of rather than despite itself.

Without liberation, we cannot even approach the discussion of quality without acting out oppressive frameworks. I'm not arguing over whether there is or is not such a thing as quality. If we want our theatre to do more than ego-stroke the privileged, we need to examine what we bring to our understanding of quality. We need to interrogate our assumptions, not to shoot holes into them, but to name them for what they are and explore the possibilities and limitations they put in place.

For instance, in Aristotelian drama, there is not much room for the kind of playing that validates and affirms anyone except those occupying dominant identities. In Aristotle's time, it was wealthy, land-owning Greek men (One wonders what Aristotle would have thought about Lorraine Hansberry or Suzan Lori-Parks). Today, it's affluent White guys. There's nothing bad or wrong with it, but let's be honest and say that this paradigm doesn't speak for or about everyone - including White men who participate in and benefit from it.

Of course, contemporary theatre has long since moved away from Aristotle as the ultimate authority on what defines quality. But there are still people everyone should "just know" if they want to participate in the dialogue without looking or feeling stupid. They are often male and/or White. This in itself is not a problem, yet there seems to be an implicit understanding that in order for it to matter, we have to put male and/or White ways of knowing at the center of our conversation - even if those ways of knowing are in direct conflict with who we are (which includes a whole lot of White men too!). This way of knowing tends to prioritize the abstract over the concrete, the impersonal over the personal, mind over body, objectivity (or the appearance of objectivity) over subjectivity, education over life experience, reason over feeling.

A liberation poetics frees us from the expectation to act, react, and interact from only half (or less!) of who we are.

Helping each other out: Indie Theater Companion

2011-01-27T15:09:00.000-05:00

Now that diversity in theater is (again) the topic of conversation (at least until people get tired of it and decide to focus on more important things), here's a chance to do what I talked about here. Remember when I talked about acting like an advocate and not a networker? Indie Theater Companion gives you a chance to do just that. Get more info about it here.

on having That Conversation

2011-01-21T03:08:00.014-05:00

Around about the same time last year, we had That Conversation. You know, the hard one. The one where everyone leaves bruised and sore-throated, but nobody has changed their minds or understands each other any better.

If you've followed any discussion about race in any progressive space on the blogosphere, there's a clear indication where the conversation goes from bearable to shit. It goes like this: someone fails to check their privilege (often not maliciously), gets called on it (not necessarily politely), then acts like they were told they ate babies for brunch. After that, dialogue grinds to a halt.

The problem with how That Conversation progresses (or rather, doesn't) is that people expect it to happen spontaneously without reproducing the same dynamics that already exist. Now add the problems of communicating via social media in general, and you've got a discussion guaranteed to leave everybody all pissed off with neither clarity nor a plan of action. It's not because White people hate Black people, Black people are too angry, Asians too quiet, Latinos don't speak English, or Native Americans too - waitaminute, what Native Americans?

That's the bad news. The good news is that this outcome not a foregone conclusion. I've had That Conversation go well with the most "colorblind" and the most "conscious" people in the same room, all sharing their truths. Honestly, I would prefer having That Conversation with people who've gone through training with the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond and/or have familiarized themselves with the material at Anti-Racist Alliance.

Over at Parabasis, we sort of touched That Conversation, and 99Seats made a good point. That Conversation is important. It's necessary and urgent. But not everyone comes to it with years of experience with anti-racist analysis and organizing, and That Conversation is important enough to not wait until everyone can find the time and money to participate in the training before they have it. However, just jumping into it without a fucking idea of what's going on internally or externally is just asking for somebody to do or say something fucked up. Then, instead of That Conversation you want to have, everything grinds to a halt.

Here are a few guidelines I came up with on how to have That Conversation.

Establish clear goals.
If people don't know what they want to get out of That Conversation, it's a good chance that it's going to turn into a clusterfuck. Be honest. If you just want to show those PC bastards how wrong and stupid they are, admit it. If your goal is to see what everyone else thinks/feels and why they think/feel that way, make that blindingly fucking obvious. If you want to apply a personalized, structural analysis of systemic oppression, say so. Just for the record, that last one is usually what I'm trying to do.

Set common ground.
Everyone who agrees to That Conversation needs to be on the same page, though. If I'm trying to apply a personalized, structured analysis of systemic oppression, and people don't even know what that means, there's no way anyone would have anything worth saying to each other. It'll just be, "You're wrong!" and "No I'm not! And you're a fucking asshole for saying that!" That's boring.

That Conversation needs to have a direction, and there needs to be a shared frame of reference if it's going to go anywhere but all over the place. Whether it's a book, a website, a workshop, or what have you, That Conversation needs to be the common reference.

Get your 101 on.
I don't know about you, but I don't have it in me to try to convince White people that racism is real and has devastating effects on the lives of people of color. Google "racism 101" (yes, exactly like that), and thousands of things are right there at your fingertips. If that's too difficult, I give plenty of links below. Knock yourself out.

Keep learning.
Few things are more disruptive to having That Conversation than someone who thinks they know everything worth knowing about it. Tim Wise named you his successor in the anti-racist movement? Good for you. Now shut the fuck up. No matter how much you know, you don't know shit. You might know more facts than the next person, but a visceral sense of truth is a more powerful tool for understanding and challenging the status quo. Being able to read code is not the same as seeing through the Matrix.

Own your shit.
How the hell can That Conversation lead anywhere if you don't know where everyone is coming from? Where is the system stacked against you? Where are you privileged? What knowledge and experiences are you bringing to this conversation? What assumptions are you clinging to?

If you're a light-skinned Black person who dealt with color issues coming up, and you feel insecure about your Blackness, own it. If you're the White kid who went to a Black school and felt the brunt of the rage and pain of your peers, own it.

Keep it personal.
We can compare data all day long, but comparing data is not making connections. Claim your I-ness. It's a lot easier to have That Conversation when we see and treat each other as people first, not abstract ideas. If everything that everybody said in That Conversation began with IMO or IMXP (because you don't want to get zapped with a logical fallacy and look stupid, do you?), it will never get past hello. But don't act like people don't know what they went through or how they felt about it. You can be the most brilliant intellectual, the most devoted activist, the most persuasive orator but all that is bullshit if you cannot be fully present and fully human.

Opinions can be challenged. Facts can be found. Blind spots can be illuminated. But that can't happen if you strip the humanity out of That Conversation.

Helping to understand.
That Conversation does not work well as a debate. It just doesn't. That Conversation is not a game. It's not something you're trying to win (unless by win you mean make theatre more equitable). As I said around the same time of year last year:

[...] no one is on trial. This is not a cross-examination. Nobody's casting anyone as heroes and villains. In fact, it's just the opposite - I want you to be better Good Guys. To do that takes going beyond earning a little bit of good karma here and there. It takes creating a new way of seeing and existing in the world - and that's not a comfortable place to be in.

A better way to frame That Conversation is around helping people to understand. Fact: not everyone is going to see eye-to-eye on everything. It's not about agreeing or disagreeing in principle. It's simply about people being different. Instead of going into that agree/disagree tailspin, focus instead on seeing more clearly where people are. It's as simple as, "I'm not seeing what you're seeing. Help me understand."

No psychics.
This one is deeply personal for me, so I'll be here a while.

For some reason, when it comes to That Conversation, people act like they're telepathic or some shit and assume they know my feelings or beliefs about things without me telling them exactly what they are. I rarely get this from other women of color, but they're Republican. I can't tell you how many times I've said something like, "That's a pretty privileged position you're speaking from there [insert what's privileged about it]," and have people treat me as though I said, "FUCK YOU RACIST KKK SKINHEAD MOTHERFUCKER!!! YOU R A PIECE OF SHIT & BE ASHAMED OF URSELF!!! DIE WHITEY DIE!!! Fuck your mama too."

If you feel confident about someone's emotional state or personal beliefs without them telling you explicitly, so confident that your amazing supernatural powers will work over the internet, chances are you're not owning your shit. Because chances are you're not seeing someone talking about something with great personal significance to them that they're very passionate about - you're seeing something else entirely, and you need to own it.

I don't own any tinfoil hats, so don't do this.

Thank people for sharing.
You may think that because I talk about racism a lot, that it's easy for me. It isn't. I really make myself vulnerable on this blog and in other places in ways that I cannot in my daily life. Of all the White people who've read and commented here, only one has openly acknowledged this. Act like it means something when people share their stories with you in That Conversation. When someone is patient enough to explain something you don't understand or to provide you with a resource that does, thank them. It doesn't have to be right away. You can do a follow-up post or comment. Give yourself time to make it count. But do it in a timely manner. Don't just take their stories and consume them for your own self-improvement without so much as a thank you.

For people allergic to Google, here are some resources.
Some required reading:

"Check my what?" On privilege and what we can do about it by tekanji
Derailing For Dummies
I Can Fix It! Volume 1: Racism by Damali Ayo
For White Folks Commenting on Blogs Run by POC and How to talk to white people about racism by Ankhesen Mie
Shall We Talk About Privilege by Womanist Musings
Understanding Racism Workshop by Guilford College
Checklist for anti-racist ally behavior by Phyllis Labanowski
The privilege in your pocket: a manifesto by Stephanie
Split hairs, White Clouds, and the Eightfold Path by Ankhesen Mie
When allies fail by Tami

Some required viewing:

A Selected History of the Political and Economic Development of the United States (which is the Development of White Supremacy in the United States)
Power analysis with Daniel Buford
On unexamined privilege and unconscious behaviors by tigtog
Thinking outside the box with Daniel Buford
White apologetics Bingo by arborsalinga

diversity in theatre - what you can do right now

2011-01-18T23:51:00.000-05:00

I was originally going to comment in response to 99's post at Parabasis ("What We Need"), but I saw that I had a lot more to say.

To be very honest, I'm tired of having this fucking conversation. I've been saying the same damn thing for months! I'm tired of saying the same shit all the time! I don't make these points for my health. I'm telling you what I see so you can fucking change it because I don't necessarily have the clout or the resources to do that myself. So let me spell it out for everyone so we're all on the same page. You ready? Here we go . . .

The solution to the overwhelming Whiteness and maleness of NYC theatre is to get space and money and audiences to writers, directors and producers who are not White men.

That's it. Yes, it's that simple. There is no lack of desire or talent, only a lack of vision and resolve. We think and act too much in "Yeah, but . . . " instead of "Yes! And . . . "

We go . . .

"Yeah, I hear they wrote something great, but I never worked with them before."
"Yeah, I think this needs to happen, but I don't know if there's anything I can do."
"Yeah, I want to help, but it's so hard."

Yet we never go . . .

"Yes, this is exactly the kind of stuff we need to do more of, and I'm going to tell people that."
"Yes, my project could use someone like you, and I'm going to find a way to get you involved."
"Yes, I know someone who wants to put on something just like that, and I'm going to put you in touch with them."

We want the problem to get fixed, but we don't want to change the way we do things. We want the problem to get fixed, but we want to rely on the same methods and paradigms that exclude, exploit, and underserve us. So is it any wonder that we spin our wheels every few months (especially around this time of year), pat ourselves on the back for being appropriately liberal because we feel so bad about what's happening (and we raise awareness - never forget that!), while never challenging ourselves to do better or holding ourselves accountable for our (lack of?) efforts.

So here are some things you (yes, you, the reader) can do right now, right this second, to make things better. These are just things I was thinking about off the top of my head. They're just my opinions. Take what you can use. Leave the rest.

1. Stop pretending to be so goddamn helpless.

If you're reading this blog right now, you have a voice. That means you have power. Use it. I'm not saying to write a Pulitzer-winning article or make a submission to the New York Times. It can be simple and brief. Especially if you're not buying a ticket (or rather, not paying for a ticket). Show that you think it's important enough to talk about.

2. Show up and take it one step further.

Not hanging a sign outside the theatre saying "No Negroes Allowed" or making audience members use separate water fountains is not the same as reaching out to and developing new Black playwrights. You have to do more than not be in the way. You have to invite us to the party and tell everyone about the party. Blackboard Play Reading Series is very good about this. When they put on a reading of your stuff, it's not just your people who's going to know about it. It's going to be their people too.

3. Act like an advocate, not a networker.

If you meet someone, and they say, "I'm a playwright," the very first thing you should say is, "Tell me about your most recent piece." The next thing out of your mouth should be, "Would you give me your contact information?"

After that, come up with 3 people who'd be interested in this person's work. Just 3 people. You can include yourself, so that narrows it down to two. Your next job is to get the playwright you met in dialogue with these people. I don't mean forwarding their e-mail and saying, "Y'all talk. Bye now."

No, no, no, no, no. Bad! No biscuit! You say something more like, "I met Blah, this playwright who's working on Somesuchorother. This sounds like it'll be a great fit for Whateverthefuckyouaredoing. I thought you two should talk about possibly working together, as well as finding a home for Somesuchorother."

4. Come up with your own ideas to add to this list and tell people about them.

Like right here, right now.

Why should you give a shit about what queer black women have to say?

2011-01-15T21:24:00.001-05:00

This is my first conscious effort and establishing a queer Black womanist liberation poesis (as I've described here). Like I mentioned before, this is probably a lifelong work, and one that will probably change over time, so don't hold me to dissertation-level consistency and rigor because it probably won't be there.

Naturally, when it comes to creating a queer Black womanist liberation poesis, the first thing that comes to mind is: Why?

It's a legitimate question. Why should anyone give a shit what queer Black women have to say? At the moment, queer Black women can offer neither the promise of prosperity nor the threat of destruction. If I can't kill you or make you rich, what difference does listening to me make?

I admit that this line of inquiry can veer existentialist. I may as well be asking what the value of human life is outside of what people can do to or for each other. However, I believe that the question itself deserves better than for us to render it pointless through abstraction. So let's not do that, OK?

While the answer I'm probably supposed to give will say something along the lines of "diversity is good for you" ("Read stuff by Black women and eat your spinach!"), that feels more like regurgitating a slogan than an actual engagement with the question of why our voices are not just beneficial, but critical, to our plays, films, TV shows, and so on?

I think Toni Morrison says it best (emphasis mine).

Almost all of the African-American writers that I know were very much uninterested in one particular area of the world, which is white men. That frees up a lot. It frees up the imagination, because you don't have that gaze. And when I say white men, I don't mean just the character, I mean the establishment, the reviewers, the publishers, the people who are in control. So once you erase that from your canvas, you can really play.

As a creator, that ability to play is vital. I mean that quite literally. We've all come across various works that have been watered down for popular consumption, and in catering to our assumed ignorance and egocentricity, it has sacrificed no small part of its vitality. Now, instead of being a doorway into new ways of expressing and knowing and being, we are constantly faced with mirrors of the same old bullshit. The same old values, the same old ways of interacting, the same old ways of understanding. This makes our collective understanding of our art and audience stagnant, inert, decaying, dead.

When "you can really play," you can imagine - and therefore create - new possibilities. But all those possibilities cannot come from only one source of experience. Seriously, how many ways can you talk about how unique, special, and wonderful straight White dudes are (and how fortunate we are that they rule the world)? Even when there is not a single straight White man present in a particular work, that is overwhelmingly the perspective through which people must experience and interpret it. Without that pressure, without that weight, our plays, films, TV shows, and so on are able to exist with greater breadth, depth, and richness.

But as I mentioned earlier, we cannot express the value of our voices solely in terms of what we, the marginalized and oppressed, can do for everyone else. It must first and foremost have value for us. We've already had the experience where our worth as human beings rested upon our ability to play the roles the dominant classes prescribe for us. Yet rare is the case where we are affirmed as we are in our fullest humanity - pure, rough, messy, and beautiful.

For those of us who are silenced every day because the world we live in devalues and dehumanizes us for our gender, our color, and/or sexuality, to speak for ourselves as ourselves is an act of reclaiming what is often taken from us. Asserting our truth is radical. It is a transformative act and therefore a revolutionary act. This is not the way society tells us we're supposed to be like. We're supposed to be silent and invisible, content in our silence and invisibility, and/or afraid of what would happen were we to see or be seen as we are. Putting ourselves at the center of our lives threatens the status quo because it exposes it for the lie that it is. That there is only one truth worth knowing, one beauty worth having, one goodness worth becoming.

It's incredibly liberating to realize that our goodness, truth, and beauty comes because of who we are rather than despite it.

What about you? Questions? Reflections?

"Tulpa" available at Off Book Market

2011-01-14T09:25:00.000-05:00

The most up-to-date version of Tulpa, or Anne&Me can be purchased here. Its only $5 for your own copy, which includes author's notes, production notes, and a cast and scene break-down. Off Book Market helps plays, theatres, and audiences to find each other in the 21st century. And there's the little fact that the author keeps control over their work (even in the small print). So if you've got $5, and you missed the cake and balloons back in November, you can still experience Tulpa, or Anne&Me for yourself.

Why Anne Hathaway will always have a part in my work

2011-01-13T14:55:00.002-05:00

Check it out over at FAB Feed.

Big projects for 2011

2011-01-03T14:25:00.003-05:00

One of my goals for this year is to put together a full production of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. I'm looking into a festival that seems right up Tulpa's alley. Also, I'm working with a director who really believes in it and wants to make it happen. Go me!

The second thing I'm working on is a Black womanist liberation poetics (or rather poiesis). If I'm honest with myself, this is more than likely a lifelong endeavor, but at the very least I'd like to make significant headway on the guiding principles. I haven't yet decided exactly what form I want it to take, but I'm thinking that I do not want to take an academic or journalistic style. Aside from my lack of interest in it, that approach would only serve to undermine one of the chief aims of this project: to help develop works that reclaim the subjectivity of marginalized people. Part of this is reconstructing ways of creating and interpreting dramatic media such as theatre, film, and television. The main idea is to start from one's own lived experience as the center then work outward from there.

I also want to avoid any dogmatic assertions about What Great Theatre Should Be and focus instead on what works and how.

Here's the preliminary reading list I'm working with:

James H. Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation
Linda E. Thomas, Womanist Theology, Epistemology, and a New Anthropological Paradigm
bell hooks, Black Looks: Race and Representation
bell hooks, Reel to Real: Race, Sex, and Class at the Movies
August Wilson, The Ground on Which I Stand

helen mirren does not worship the 18-25 year old male penis

2010-12-09T01:56:00.000-05:00

Helen Mirren proves that older women are fierce:

Source.

what doesn't work

2010-12-08T06:18:00.001-05:00

One of the things that I often get asked when it comes to anti-oppression in radical, collective, and other non-hierarchical spaces is something along the lines of, "What should we be doing? Tell us what to do! Help us be less racist/sexist/homophobic/classist! We feel really bad about not having enough women/minorities/gays/poor folks in our organization. Tell us how to fix it!"

I'm not going to get into how incredibly fucked up and entitled it is for anyone with a particular privilege to demand that of anyone who does not share that privilege. If you still can't wrap your head around it, read this and get back to me.

I can't fix people's problems with race, gender, sexuality, or class on someone else's whim, and I certainly can't shit out viable solutions just because someone asked me to. It's not on me to do the heavy lifting of solving these problems just because I point out how they affect me and those who share certain things with me. What I can do is speak from my own experiences about what does and doesn't work. I'm going to limit myself to institutions and organizations that are - at least in principle - progressive.

Honestly, there is no One True Way To Undo Racism/Sexism/Homophobia/Classism. How that plays out is different for every group and their analysis of the problem. However, to save you a bit of time and heartache, I'm going to tell you what doesn't work.

1. Using one person or group as a buffer between your organization and underprivileged individuals.

I've seen this a lot. Instead of examining and transforming the ways that the systems and procedures you have is place are stacked against women, people of color, LGBTQ people, and working class/poor people, there's a separate little group or task force where people who don't fit the dominant group are sort of guided in that direction so that the organization as a whole does not have to deal with them.

This is fucked up for a few reasons. First of all, it forces that person or group into the role of gatekeeper even if that is against their intent and best interests. Secondly, different people have different needs and different reasons for being involved. Sloughing them off onto a person or group just because they share a specific trait may set them up for failure and/or disappointment because that person or group is not equipped to really give these individuals what they need.

2. Creating programs and initiatives based on symptoms instead of systemic problems.

"Oops," some folks say. "We put diversity in or mission statement but we don't do a lot of work by people of color. I know! Let's serve fried chicken and malt liquor at our shows so more Black people will come!"

"Oh no!" some would say, "It's a total sausage fest in our group! Hey, let's make pink flyers so women (and flaming homos) will come!"

You get the idea.

You have a group, organization or institution finally noticing that something is rotten in the state of Denmark but instead of addressing how they set things up to exclude people and transforming how they do things, they tack on some sort of diversity initiative.

What's wrong with it? Well . . .

Instead of basing your actions on what we have to say for and about ourselves, you're going by what you think we want. Instead of asking us what would make your organization more attractive to us, you keep focusing on what you want out of us and setting yourself up as the one we have to prove our worth to. You're still putting us in the position of having to beg to sit at your table instead of you creating a space where we feel invited to do so. This is the same shit we have to deal with everywhere else.

Those are the top two that come to mind. I'm sure you can think of others.

6 rules for allies

2010-12-08T04:50:00.002-05:00

In this video, Dr. Omi Osun Joni L. Jones gives 6 rules for allies in social justice.

Transcript here.

You can also take a look at this article for some more concrete ideas.

thought experiment: racial power analysis of indie theatre scene

2010-12-04T04:39:00.001-05:00

I want you to participate in a little thought experiment. But first, I need to give you some background information.

I came across an article by Zora Neale Hurston called "What White Publishers Won't Print," and I'm sighing and shaking my head at how relevant it still is.

I've recently been involved with The People's Institute for Survival and Beyond's women of color anti-racist organizing group. What I really enjoy about this group is that it's not about tools and skills. It's not about rhetoric. It's about transforming institutions through anti-racist principles. In other words, The People's Institute forces us to look at what we take for granted and see how it contributes to racial marginalization and oppression. This is the most crucial aspect of anti-racist organizing*. Without a grounding in these core principles, we risk perpetuating racial marginalization and oppression despite our best intentions.

* What I love about The People's Institute is how they demystify organizing as something that only "experts" can do. The process of anti-racist organizing is extremely accessible to anyone who cares enough to put a little time and energy into it.

While racism is the focus of The People's Institute, the principles they use can apply to other forms of oppression as well. This does not mean that you should rip off their work and apply it to other forms of oppression without first wrestling with race. No, no, hell no. What I do mean is that once you understand how racism works, you have a leg up in understanding and counteracting other marginalizations and oppressions.

* Seriously, the last thing people of color need is yet another White person coming in, stealing our shit, and profiting off of it.

If you ever get a chance to attend one of their workshops, I highly recommend that you go. But for now I'd like to focus on a few ideas that really stood out to me as highly relevant to the indie theatre scene. All of the principles connect with each other. However, let's examine two or three: analyzing power and gatekeeping.

This is where we come to the thought experiment. It's very simple. I'm going to ask a few questions, and you answer as fully as you can. But first, a few ground rules.

Focus on race. Too often, when it comes to discussing race, the temptation is to ignore or erase that and make it all about something else. Without question, all systems of oppression are linked, but let's not pretend that we already know everything there is to know about race and how it functions in our lives.
This is engagement, not debate. This is a place for thinking and reflection, not judgment. Practice active listening. Nobody is on trial. Racism is not a charge you have to defend against. It's merely the situation we're dealing with because it was built into the fabric of our society.
Speak from your own experience. Talk from your own life. It's OK not to know this right away because we're trained not to think or talk about it like this. Parroting what somebody else said or regurgitating something you read or heard somewhere else turns this from a human interaction into an academic one.

Power analysis

Where is power concentrated?
Who exercises power?
Who controls and/or has access to resources?
What barriers prevent full participation?
What are the effects of the power structures?

In your experience, how does the indie theatre scene do the following?

Exclude
Exploit
Oppress
Underserve

Gatekeeping

Which institutions and/or organizations do you work with?
What community does it serve?
Who is in that community? Where do people of color fit into that community?
Where does your organization or institution interact with that community?
Who describes that community?
Who represents that community?
Who speaks for that community?
Who mediates with or for that community?
Who evaluates the people within that community?
Who speaks for that community?
Who helps people navigate the system?
Who has access to your organization or institution?
Who are the leaders in your organization or institution? Who is represented in that leadership?
Who gets people to join your organization or institution?

Of course, there's no pressure to answer all of these questions right away. Just some things to think about. Feel free to leave answers here or to link to this post on your own blog with your answers.

synchronicity and doubt

2010-12-01T06:33:00.001-05:00

I read a post linked to from the Community Dish Yahoo group where fledgling playwright Natalie Wilson talks about the period shortly following a successful reading. She describes it as a kind of post-partum depression.

I’m ashamed -- I feel like if I haven’t landed anything then it must not be that good. Or at least that is what people must think, because the only way to know in the arts that something you have done has merit is if other people give it a stamp of approval. Without the mark of commercial success on something, what you have created (or what talent you may possess) is all so much drivel. At least that is how I feel. I can say my play is good until I’m blue in the face, but without an external stamp of approval no one else has any reason to believe that.

You know what? I know exactly how she feels because that's where I am right now. Brian M. Rosen gives a fantastic response about the difference between success and merit:

I think the trick for the emerging creative is to keep a rock solid wall between the concepts of merit and success. You need to be able to look at your output and see its merit without the coloration of success (or lack thereof). It’s the internal voice that defines your creative output, not the external. That’s the voice that will make decisions, this note or that note? Transition to a new section or keep repeating this idea? Who speaks next? What do they say?

That’s the voice that needs to look at your work and say, “Yeah. This is good. I need to make more of this.”

That's a sentiment I can definitely get behind. Nevertheless, I can't shake the feeling that it's not quite getting to the core of the playwright's dilemma. Natalie presses the idea when she says (bold mine):

We've all known those artists/performers/writers who think they have this amazing talent, but they just... don't. I can think my play is great, but if no one wants to hear it, or if when they do hear it, no one responds to it, then I don't think I can really call it great. I do rely on what other people think - not to the exclusion of own instincts, but along with - because my goal is to create art that speaks to people, that touches people, that causes them to look at something in life a bit differently than they did before. To me, my instinctual feeling that my work has merit can only be validated by achieving that goal. Which I can't know unless I put it up in front of an audience and observe their response.

To which I say: exactly.

Am I the only one in the theatre blogosphere who has anything to say about my play? This is not hyperbole. I mean this is all seriousness. Is my time better spent talking via e-mail with the handful of people who will respond to me as opposed to putting everything out here and making myself look like the homeless person talking to herself?

questions and answers

2010-11-30T14:30:00.000-05:00

Mariah has a bunch of questions for us playwrights and admin types, which means I should probably answer since I follow 2AMt on Twitter and spam them with my stuff.

1. Playwrights: have you ever had a play produced as a result of submitting it to a theater with an “open submission” policy? (And if you submitted it to Theater A, and Theater A did a reading of it, to which a rep from Theater B came, and Theater B produced the play, that doesn’t count.)

Nope. Every play I wanted to do I had to put it up myself. I explain why in more detail below.

5. Playwrights: how vital do you consider readings and workshops to your process? Do you feel it actually improves your play? When it works, why does it work? When it doesn’t, why doesn’t it?

I consider readings an important part of my revision and rewriting process. There's something about hearing the words out loud and seeing the action in real time. I wouldn't say it improves the play so much as reveal it. Until some actors get their hands on it, I don't have a firm idea of what I'm really working with.

7. Playwrights: do you agree with Itamar Moses that it’s more productive to get artistic directors, rather than literary managers, to see your work? Or have literary managers/departments actually been responsible for your work getting produced? Or have both been the case at different times?

As far as I'm concerned, gatekeepers are gatekeepers. I believe it's more important for those gatekeepers to be aware of what they're bringing to their understanding (or misunderstanding) of particular works and how that impacts what they consider stageworthy. My solution has been to ignore them altogether and pursue self-production because, based on what the people who'd be able to open those doors have not been telling me, it'd be a waste of my time to bother with them.

10. Playwrights: do you find that doing rewrites in rehearsal/preparation for a reading or workshop is preferable/more productive to doing rewrites in rehearsal for a production?

Generally I prefer doing rewrites between performances (of whatever type). Each of the 3 readings of Tulpa had a VERY different script. For me, that works very well because it's easier for me (and people who follow my stuff) to follow the evolution of a particular play.

you know you wanna see this

2010-11-29T21:19:00.000-05:00

The only thing that can make this more awesome? Lightsabers.

tropes done to death

2010-11-24T14:15:00.002-05:00

Isaac at Parabasis is done with a trope that feminists and feminist allies know and hate the shit out of:

I am not sure I can put into words how fed up I am by the whole "the guy's an asshole, but the woman sees something in him and through fucking him a lot, redeems him" thing. And furthermore, I'm a bit fed up by male critics not realizing that this is blatant wish-fulfillment for male audiences .

Typepad won't let me post a comment, so I'm responding here.

Rather than talk about male fantasy wish fulfillment blah blah blah, I'm going to lay out a scenario that would have me leave the theatre feeling like I saw something truly worthwhile. James would see where this is going.

For about the first half, the movie will be this trope. But just at the moment when the female lead would fall for the male lead's roguish charm, things will take a different turn and start going wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. Like this . . .

Or this . . .

Or this . . .

ETA: See what I mean?

reflections on "Tulpa, or Anne&Me" after 3 staged readings

2010-11-18T04:13:00.001-05:00

Honestly, this could very easily be set up as its own blog, but in the interest of not overloading you with me talking about my own work (even more), I'll try to keep things relatively brief.

I know that, as theatre artists, we tend to focus on the logistics of making plays. While that does get things done, sometimes that means we skip over crucial principles and ideas, things that would give our work more direction and purpose. So these reflections won't be particularly "stagey." I'll try to keep them somewhat coherent, but don't hold me to it.

One of the main insights I've had into Tulpa is its depth, nuance and complexity. There is a lot going on in the play, so much that a single performance cannot convey the most important things about it. I'm not just talking about the Big Ideas the play wrestles with. Even just focusing on the setting, Tulpa has some six different worlds presented in the play, some of which are worlds within worlds within worlds (such as a memory of a dream by a fictional character created by [Name]). The reality (realities?) presented in Tulpa is very fluid, often changing on a dime without warning.

Now if we're going to talk about aesthetics, the complexity of Tulpa is even more evident. Tulpa does not fit into a particular genre or style familiar to most theatre practitioners. Tulpa does not owe its form or content to a particular work or artist, so there is no default or standard way to approach staging it. On the one hand, this gives theatre artists a lot of freedom to put their own creativity into it, unlike, say, a realistic period piece. On the other hand, the freedom can paralyze people due to the problem of having too many options.

Alright, I said that Tulpa does not fit a particular style, but that's not exactly true. I owe a lot to my very limited exposure to Japanese theatre, not to mention my love of shoujo-ai anime like Revolutionary Girl Utena (ditto Shadow Play Girls) and Strawberry Panic. I've talked before about what that meant for a play I've abandoned for the time being, but a bit of reflection on my part reveals that this Japanese (influence? sensibility? style?) is something I consistently incorporate into my work. With Tulpa, that Noh-ish (links to video) quality manifested as the main character, who is strongly based on myself. The things I enjoy about Noh, what appeals to me most about it, is the contrast between powerful feeling and minimalist expression. Here's a quote that really sums up what it's about:

Although the costumes are gorgeous, Noh is minimalist in style. It employs and empty stage, formalized gestures, and the use of masks, in order to create a distanced sense of tragic atmosphere (rather than dramatic action). In Noh, there is very little expressed emotion, or direct conflict, and few spectacular effects.
-- Yoshi Oida & Lorna Marshall, The Invisible Actor (check it out here too)

Not surprisingly, that combination of depth and subtlety has been the most challenging thing to bring out in a performance, particularly with a main character like [Name]. What's most important about her is what happens beneath the words and the things she doesn't let herself say so that when she finally gets to express what she keeps bottled up it really means something. It requires silence and stillness, a gift for understatement, that goes against the training many Western actors have. This is not good or bad, just different. It can definitely be done, but it ain't easy.

[Name] is a tough role to play. It's very unforgiving of any sloppiness or superfluousness. [Name] is one of those roles that is virtually impossible to underplay (it's something David Mamet would love to see more actors do). But overplaying it creates an imbalance that undermines her complexity. If the actor overplays the vulnerability, she comes off as timid (which she is not). Overdo the force behind some of her boldest statements, she comes off as harsh and/or aggressive (which she is not). Go too far with the reserve, and it becomes impossible to understand why she allows Anne to keep coming back. Make her too strident, and her alienation rings false. She's in a constant state of tension between the craving for intimacy and the fear of being hurt - a fear she has every reason to have.

In a way, she's similar to Hamlet in this regard. It's easy to play up Hamlet as madman, but that leaves the poetry and humor (amongst other things) unfulfilled. Likewise, a performance that can make you believe "To be or not to be" has to be the same one that convinces you that Hamlet would run Polonius through without thinking twice about it.

Speaking of Shakespeare, another thing I discovered about Tulpa is how important precision is to a successful performance. Skipping over words or ignoring punctuation or omitting stage directions actually impacts the pacing of a scene and/or meaning of a line.

I speak a great deal about performance, which means actors, because of something I realized about Tulpa after the most recent reading: that it does not need a full production in the sense of lights, sets, and costumes - what Aristotle would call spectacle. When the performers hit it right, it didn't matter that the TV set was a cardboard box with an antenna taped to it or that the sofa was two cushions on top of a wooden box. It didn't matter that the Guardian Angels of Blackness didn't have wings or halos. If the actors are true to every moment, the audience will go with them, even if they do not quite understand the rules of the play-world.

Talkbacks work best when they are not thinly veiled critique. I get more out of a real discussion with audiences speaking to each other as much as if not more than they are to me or the other artists. I get a better feel for what they're really bringing to it and getting out of it by keeping my mouth shut and listening to them talk, argue, and reflect about my work than I do with any feedback they give directly to me. First of all, I'm my own worst critic, and I don't need anybody's help in that regard. It takes a lot of writer-crack to work up the nerve to say anything unequivocally positive about my work. Second of all, I've learned that, due to a perfectionist streak the size of the grand canyon, I should not think or talk about my work in terms of quality in the sense of its worthiness. I put a lot of heart into my writing, and too many critical voices in my head sometimes leads me to destroy the very thing I put into it. I owe it to myself not to do that to myself.

What Tulpa also makes very clear is how the theatre world can be particularly limiting for Black women playwrights. This is probably my own internalized racial inferiority operating here, but I can't quite shake the feeling that, because nobody White gave me any substantial positive feedback (except for Gus and one audience member who stayed back for the post-show discussion), that my work is worse than bad - it's mediocre. Seriously, I often feel like a Salieri surrounded by Mozarts. And because Tulpa is such a deeply personal piece, it's hard not to internalize that, not to feel like what I sense as a lack of response says anything about my worth as an artist or as a human being.

I know that has a lot to do with the current dynamics of the theatre world, a world that is, unfortunately, still dominated by White men and is, despite liberal politics, governed by a conservative mindset. One of these days, I'm going to do a power analysis of New York's indie theatre scene, but that's probably for a time when other theatre people decide that what I say is worth listening to (hinthinthint- that's part of the analysis).

I don't mean to be such a downer, but I find it very telling that this keeps happening. Every few months the theatre blogosphere has some discussion about diversity (I think we're due for one in February; bet you can guess why). They ask the same questions about the theatrical landscape: Where are the women playwrights? Where are the playwrights of color? Where are the poor and working-class playwrights? Where are the playwrights who don't have MFAs or didn't major in theatre in undergrad? Why aren't Black people seeing our shows? What are we doing wrong? Yadda yadda yadda. And I say the same shit I said then, "Hello! I'm right here. I have a show/script." And then . . .

*crickets*

All of this actually points to the fact that I need to reconsider not only how my work gets put on but also how I define success. Prizes and festivals and commissions used to be something I thought I wanted to strive for, but I've changed my mind. My goal now is to bring Tulpa to as many people who want and/or need to see it as possible. I don't care if they're in school. I don't care if they're in prison. I don't care if they're in a fetish club. Wherever people are who need to see Tulpa, that's what I'm willing to go with it. In the city. In the country. I don't care. That's how I define success. I don't give a shit about Obie, MacArthur, Julliard, or whatever. It's about getting the work to the people who most need to see it.

Somehow, I think the way we normally go about doing things gets in the way of that.

Doomsday in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

2010-11-12T15:58:00.003-05:00

Wish me luck, peoples!

And -

Happy Birthday, Anne Hathaway!

Fuckin' A George Takei!

2010-11-03T16:04:00.000-04:00

George Takei says Clint McCance is "a douchebag - that's right, a douchebag."

You gotta see that shit to believe it! It's awesome.

See, I'm not as nice as Mr. Takei. I do wish bad shit on someone who'd say something so cruel to people when they're so vulnerable. So I'd like to say to Mr. McCance . . .

FUCK YOU!!!

And I hope you get anally invaded by space aliens.

Asshole.

a brief encounter - a true story

2010-10-19T09:43:00.003-04:00

SCENE: Lobby of the Public Theater. Night.

ME: I came just to see you.
HER: Oh that's so sweet.
ME: Please don't be mad. I wrote a play about you.
HER: You wrote a play about me!?!?!?!
ME: Pleasedon'tbemad. There' some stuffinitthat'suhsensitivebecauseit'spersonalandum. About race and you say some things but I don't think you're a racist bigot or anything.
HER: I'm a racist bigot?
ME: Nonono. I'm not saying that at all! (Showing her the program).
HER: Waitaminute! I think a friend of mine was in this.
ME: Huh what who? Did she do set design or -
HER: No, no. She was an actor. Her name was Meredith or Elizabeth or -
ME: That doesn't sound - You already knew? Um. Sorry. Really nervous. Uh. Here. (giving her sheet)
HER: Oh, sure. Is this to RVCBard [not the name I used]? (Writing carefully)
ME: Yeah it's me. Uh here I almost forgot. For you. (giving her my letter and an invitation) Uh. Thanks. Bye. (skipping away with hearts and stars and unicorns floating around my head)

I swear, I am not a racist bigot - and I have no idea what "I" say in this play but RVCBard [not the name I used]seems sweet and lovely.<3
Anne Hathaway

mark your calendar for FRIDAY, NOV 12!

2010-10-13T03:13:00.005-04:00

Do pass this along. It won't work if nobody shows up. :P

WHO: (aka me)
WHAT: Staged reading for Tulpa, or Anne&Me combined with birthday party for Anne Hathaway (aka The Great Pumpkin). There will be cake. There will be balloons. There may be party hats.
WHEN: Friday, November 12 at 8pm
WHERE: WOW Cafe Theatre, 59 E. 4th Street, New York, NY
WHY: Fundraising for Crossroads Theatre Project and WOW Cafe Theatre.
HOW: RSVP by clicking on the Fractured Atlas button below to send a donation to Crossroads Theatre Project. Suggested donation $10 per person.

ABOUT TULPA, OR ANNE&ME
When Anne Hathaway crawls out of your television, what do you do?

Tulpa, or Anne&Me tells the story of a Black lesbian with an overactive imagination who forges an unlikely bond with Anne Hathaway. Guided by two guardian angels of Blackness (or are they voices in her head?), she struggles to connect with Anne across the thorny barrier between Black and White women. Through a series of visitations merging memory, reality and fantasy, Tulpa, or Anne&Me wrestles with the racial tensions that haunt even our most intimate relationships.

Raw, intimate, and unapologetic, Tulpa, or Anne&Me blends pop culture, Tibetan mysticism and womanism to begin the conversation about race that Black women and White women have never been allowed to have. Until now.

Read what some people are saying about Tulpa, or Anne&Me at:

ABOUT CROSSROADS THEATRE PROJECT
Crossroads Theatre Project is a collaboration of new Black playwrights whose works explore how race intersects with other identities and challenge mainstream ideas about Black theatre.

The crossroads are rooted in African folklore, Vodou, and Delta blues as a place where strange and unexpected things happen. Anything can happen on the crossroads. You can speak with the dead, meet the spirits of your ancestors, or even sell your soul to the Devil.

Crossroads Theatre Project is the anti-Chitlin Circuit created to break barriers and undermine stereotypes by presenting thoughtful new stories by and about African Americans today. In the simplest terms, this means: no maids; no crackheads; no Tyler Perry.

The vision of Crossroads Theatre Project is nearly identical to 13P. The idea is to use our shared passion for theater and our status as Othered to empower us when it comes to gathering resources and reaching out to potential audiences and creative partners. We're committed to giving people theatre by and about us that challenges what people assume we stand for and/or are interested in. The goal of Crossroads Theatre Project is to incubate the works of new Black playwrights from first draft through full production.

Read more about Crossroads Theatre Project here.

"The Social Network" in under 90 seconds

2010-10-12T16:01:00.000-04:00

The translation is hilarious!

it gets better: what needed to be said

2010-10-10T00:28:00.006-04:00

Julie Taymor does "The Tempest"

2010-10-08T06:59:00.000-04:00

Magic. Helen Mirren. Fairies. Chris Cooper. Magic. Wizards. Spells.

*faints*

I think I'm going to have Julie Taymor's baby. Like, right now.

Labor pains never felt so good.

on ticket pricing (now with ninjas)

2010-10-06T00:55:00.000-04:00

With the back and forth between 2amt and Parabasis going on, I suppose the discussion about ticket pricing is now officially an Important Topic, so I did some reading and now feel comfortable enough to jump in.

People had a lot of thoughtful commentary about pricing models and artistic vision and blah blah blah. But none of them mentioned the most essential element of ticket pricing.

Ninjas.

I know what you're thinking. What the fuck kind of non-sequitur is this, RVCBard? C'mon, we're discussing Something Really Serious And Important, and all you can say is fucking ninjas?

Let me ask you something. When was the last time you saw a ninja at your show? Exactly! You're not supposed to see them because they're doing what ninjas do best - remain invisible.

Guys, you're missing out on a tremendous opportunity here. Do you know how many ninjas can fit inside a 30-seat black box theatre? Lots. Especially under the seats and on the ceiling. I know because they sent me secret messages telling me so. You know what else they tell me? That they've been watching you very closely. And when you do something they don't like, they use the deadly art of ninjutsu to kill audience members to prevent them from seeing your show. So that's where the shuriken and dead bodies are coming from.

So, theatre blogosphere: WHERE ARE YOUR NINJAS?

"sorry about the irreparable damage"

2010-10-02T14:24:00.000-04:00

See if this sounds familiar.

US scientists do medical experiments on brown people without their consent.
Said medical experiments deny treatment to said brown people.
Brown people get worse. Or fucking die.
Decades after irreparable damage has been done, US government apologizes.

The question I have for you is: Would you accept that shit?

Consider the recent (well, recent to straight people) anti-gay bullying leading to death (btw, you have to check out The We Got Your Back Project). Would the families, friends and communities affected by the shitstorm leading to the deaths of several young people these past few weeks be obligated to accept a post-mortem "my bad" 50 or 60 years later?

Get this through your head, America: Sometimes "sorry" ain't good enough. Once you fuck up people's lives and livelihoods, "I'm sorry" isn't gonna cut it.

I wanna see your shining faces

2010-09-30T08:06:00.000-04:00

Over at Ars Marginal.

Seriously, all that discussion about diversity and all, and none of you are at the blog devoted to it?

Am I gonna have to use my African Hoodoo Mumbo Jumbo* on you?

* Just in case some people Googled "African Hoodoo Mumbo Jumbo" hoping to find spells or something. Yeah, might wanna check that.

The Art of Calling Out *-ist Bullshit

2010-09-28T16:10:00.000-04:00

A lot of people struggle with what to say when someone in their company says some fucked up *-ist bullshit. They want to say something in a way that makes it clear that what that person said was wrong and why.

You want to be respectful. You want to sound erudite and educated. You don't want to hurt their feelings. (Despite the fact that they already hurt you by saying fucked up bullshit). But really, sometimes that just doesn't work. So, to give you a model to work from, I offer you this:

On the privileged and their epiphanies

2010-09-27T02:39:00.000-04:00

I have one thing to say: Amen.

C'est Moi: Marion Call - Nerd Anthem

2010-09-26T02:58:00.000-04:00

Thinking about talkbacks

2010-09-23T18:57:00.001-04:00

I don't usually enjoy talkbacks. There, I said it. It's not about hating my audience or anything like that, but I generally don't get much out of them. I don't get much out of it artistically because I don't rewrite according to what people like or don't like, particularly with regards to content or subject matter. I don't get much out of it personally because being the center of attention for that long, and for a work that is still in progress, it's unrealistic for anyone (including me) to expect me to be "sufficiently detached" from my work to expect me to be receptive to criticism without being discouraged by it. So I'm in this weird position of having to decide between accepting everything or ignoring everything - and if I ignore everything, what's the point of wasting anybody's time with a talkback?

Frankly, most talkbacks feel like something that artists do because they want to say that they care what the audience thinks. A connection between people or a deeper engagement with the work is pretty rare. For the most part, they just come, leave their $0.02, and leave. It's the rare audience member who uses talkbacks as an opportunity to get better acquainted with a particular piece or a company (like I did for The Cell Theatre through Blackboard Plays).

I do believe that most artists genuinely want to hear from the audience about what their work does for them. It's just that they see talkback as part of the play development process when it seems much better suited as a tool for audience development.

Think about it. In what other part of a play's process is the audience so intimately involved? In what other part of a play's process can the audience make so direct a connection not only with us artists, but with each other? Even during opening night, the most you'll get from an audience is that they come in, watch the show, then leave without talking to anyone for longer than about 5 minutes. And after that they might write an article or a blog post reviewing the performance.

What a waste!

There's so much more you can do than the typical talkback format. How about instead of taking 20 minutes or half an hour to tell the artists how to make their art, transform the generic talkback into a roundtable - complete with snacks and refreshments? How would that change the dynamic of audience members giving their reactions to a work?

That's sort of what I'm planning for the birthday party after the staged reading of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. I'd much rather watch a discussion amongst audience members about the things the play brings up and what that means for the audience as opposed to them asking me a bunch of questions. As much as I love writer crack, talking about myself does get boring. I'm far more interested in watching the audience wrestle with the work and bring that struggle out to each other - not in a combative or aggressive way, but with a frankness that the work hopes to encourage. What good is it for a piece to say, "We need to have these conversations" and follow up by not having them?

We need more dads like this

2010-09-23T05:29:00.000-04:00

And kudos for James Jones teaching his daughter that Black women are worth protecting. Could you imagine what James Jones would've done if Nita Hanson ("Jade") was his child? Let's just say that call to Dr. Laura would not be necessary.

Somebody wrote about Tulpa!!!

2010-09-19T01:29:00.000-04:00

Check out what Jasmin, Llena de Gracia has to say about Tulpa, or Anne&Me:

It is really good. And this is from a literature major who's not all that into plays, mostly because of the flowery language, which RVCBard deliberately avoids. My favorite scene--the last one in the first act--is particularly powerful, and part of it is so eerily similar to the recent Dr. Laura debacle that it gave me goosebumps to read it. As far as the overall content, what kept me interested was that it wasn't constructed as a contrived sit-in-a-circle-kumbayah moment. The conversations are fragmented and disjointed, just as they would be in real life, and they leave the reader vaguely dissatisfied, not at the writer for structuring them that way, but at the fact that these conversations are reflections of real life. I'm excited that it's the first in a 3-part series, because I wanted more at the end...but I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted more of.

BOO-YOW!!!!

While I'm busy smoking this writer-crack, check out the open discussion happening at Ars Marginal and join in. I've got some questions for you, and if you have them for me, that's cool too.

no words . . .

2010-09-16T20:37:00.000-04:00

You ever seen something so fucked up that you can't even get mad? You ever seen something so beyond the fucking pale that you can't even muster up an emotional response?

This is one of those things.

As Josh would say, "I love the South."

The fucked up thing about this is that if I decided to use this as a fundraiser for Tulpa, or Anne&Me, I'd probably make thousands of dollars.

In the meantime, save the date for November 12! Oh, and check out the open discussion going on at Ars Marginal.

Black theatre lives (feat. Black Fest)

2010-09-13T16:44:00.000-04:00

Do you know about Black Fest? No? You should.

Black Fest is sort of what Crossroads Theatre Project is all about. While the focus and scope are different, the idea is the same: expanding and elevating what people imagine as "minority" theatre.

And Black Fest is not alone. There are: Liberation Theatre Company, The Hansberry Project, and 651 Arts. Not to mention Freedom Train Productions and Blackboard Plays.

So what are you waiting for? Check us out and tell your friends!

Join the discussion at Ars Marginal

2010-09-12T18:57:00.000-04:00

Over at Ars Marginal, I've started an open discussion about Tulpa, or Anne&Me. Come join us!

Playwright vs. crack whore

2010-09-11T00:52:00.002-04:00

Lewis Black on writers and "writers" and blahhhgs! Oh, and why you should kill your child if they say they want to be a playwright (Answer: Because being a crack whore pays better).

How to do it wrong

2010-09-09T18:06:00.000-04:00

I normally enjoy Racialicious, I really do, but this time they dropped the ball. Rather than spell out exactly what's fucked up about it (because it's been said enough times by me and other people), I'll leave it to you, dear reader, to use your native intelligence to discern what is amiss.

Read this (including the comments) and this (including the comments).

And go here if you're still can't put your finger on it.

You know you wanna see this: Juan of the Dead (Juan de los Muertos)

2010-09-07T14:40:00.000-04:00

Save the date: November 12

2010-09-02T00:24:00.000-04:00

I'm going to do something on Friday, November 12.

I can't tell you where it will be or exactly what will happen, but it will hopefully involve cake, ice cream, fun and games, and a staged reading of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. So I'm giving you a heads up 2 months in advance so you can make sure your ass is there.

tulpa, or anne&me rewrites and accomplishments (attention matt freeman!!!)

2010-08-29T12:32:00.000-04:00

I just want to take this moment to say that I'm fucking awesome. As I'm completing the rewrites for Tulpa, or Anne&Me (seriously, if the current version is Windows 7, the last version - the one most of you are familiar with - is Windows XP), I've managed to get Yoda, Palpatine and a Godzilla reference into one scene!

BEAT THAT, FREEMAN!!!!

And before anyone whines about copyright infringement . . .

Fuck George Lucas. He deserves it for that fucking Clone Wars cartoon - not the cool one on Cartoon Network, the one that sucked. The one with a baby Hutt.

Flux Theatre Ensemble: The Wider Frame

2010-08-27T17:24:00.000-04:00

Flux Theatre Ensemble: The Wider Frame: "Increasingly, I am seeing the problems that face the theatre as woven into a larger context; and I am coming to believe that we can't talk about the problems facing the field without also talking about that wider frame.

I think we can't talk about gender equity in season selection without talking about the 80 cents that women make to a man's dollar, or the woeful 3% of Fortune 500 companies led by women.

If we want to talk about the divide between artistic and administrative compensation, we need to also talk about CEO salaries that are 344 times that of the average worker.

If we talk about diversity on our stages, we need to remember that by 2050, America's minority population will exceed 50%.

When we talk about the financial growth of theatres, we need to factor in the externalized costs of theatre production, the same as every other business striving to move from GDP to GPI.

If we're concerned about theatre's declining relevance, we need to see it as connected to declining rates of empathy and creativity; and wrestle with the rapid changes to human consciousness."

Witchsistah is right (h/t Sister Toldja)

2010-08-26T22:42:00.001-04:00

Sista Toldja lays out something Witchsistah and I have been saying for years:

Blatant racism forgiven with the simple words “I’m sorry” brings to mind the phenomenon commonly referred to as Battered Woman’s Syndrome. The victims are unable to walk away from their abuser and continue to return time and time again, without instituting any true demands for an improvement in how they are treated or rehabilitation for their abuser. I have said it once and I will say it again: Black folks will gladly take the moral high road all the way to Hell. Saying “It’s okay” doesn’t always make you the bigger person. ("The Power of No Forgiveness")

This really does make me wonder, though: Why are Black people burdened with this particular expectation? Not just Black people - Black Americans, especially African American women. For real, no other group of people is held to such a standard. Know why? Because it's fucking ridiculous.

If Dr. Laura screamed, "Seig Heil!" eleven times on the air, do you really think people would expect Jews and other groups persecuted during the Holocaust to "just get over it"? Nope! Know why? Because it's fucking ridiculous.

If Mel Gibson yelled, "You're gonna burn in hell with the fags! You're gonna get raped by a bunch of dykes!" do you think people would dare to tell LGBTQ people to "let it go"? Nope. Know why? Because it's fucking ridiculous.

Now women - especially battered women - are at times held to this standard, especially by people who don't know battered women. Trust me, decent human beings who have known women in abusive relationships are a lot less forgiving of abuse. But the thing is - people know how fucking sick it is to ask (demand!) forgiveness for that. People know how sick it is to expect a woman who's been abused to not be fearful or distrustful of men in general because of her experience and the fact that we live in a society that requires men to prove their manhood through their domination of women and turns a blind eye to the inevitable violence that results. Nevertheless, when abuse does come to light, a position of forgiveness and reconciliation is rightly seen as unhealthy, particularly when the abuse is extremely violent.

So why are Black people supposed to tolerate bullshit 'til the cows come home without so much as criticizing - let alone retaliating - the most horrendous shit humanity has to offer? What is it about us that inspires the requirement of saintlike virtue on our part?

Truly, I want to know.

When is a Blog? (h/t SisterToulja and Matthew Freeman)

2010-08-26T22:14:00.000-04:00

I stole the fuck outta this title.

In any case, I follow Sister Toldja (The Beautiful Struggler) on Twitter, but I should've been reading the blog all along. She brings up a really interesting phenomenon when it comes to integrating social media:

Say I tweet the name of an article or post along with a link to it (I.E. “New Post: OMG! The Black Male Marriage Crisis: http://bit.ly/cYz0mJ) I do this, of course, in hopes that people will read said post. Seems clear enough. There’s a link. It says “New Post”. Sounds like an invitation to click said link and read, right? Well, folks will sometimes bypass that step and attempt to engage a discussion about what they are assuming the piece is about (“@sistertoldja There is no Black male marriage crisis. Where did you get that from?”)

Even if they have figured out my thesis in 140-characters, why would I spend an hour writing something, only to then spend a bunch of time on Twitter debating it with people who haven’t read it? [. . .]

Another little kink in an otherwise great online existence: folks who DO take the time to read what I write (also known as the best people on the planet) will then take to Twitter and send me questions or comments regarding something I’ve taken on. And I don’t mean “@sistertoldja: I really enjoyed today’s post! Gave me something to thing about”. I mean probing questions about the post or 4-tweet-long responses. This is bothersome for a number of reasons (Sister Toldja, "The Twitter/Blogging Comment Problem")

I can understand where Sister Toldja's coming from. I've had this blog for - what? - 2 years now, and I don't think I'm popular enough to even be a micro blog. I just started using Twitter this year, and I'm still kicking myself for not doing it earlier (especially with my 70ish followers). I'm finally starting to "get" how to integrate my blog and Twitter in a way that benefits both.

While this would seem to only be a concern for the blogging Big Leagues, it does bring to mind something I might have to contend with on Ars Marginal. I'm not particularly worried about it, but it's worth sparing a thought or two. At the very least, it would be advantageous to outline the type of discourse you want to have on your social media.

For me, personally, the emphasis is on the social. I don't blog or Twitter for the fuck of it. Social media allow me to be social in a way that is comfortable for me. I am extremely introverted (not the same as shy). Being around people - especially if that means spending a lot of time around new people - is always stressful for me. I can hide this very well for a limited time, but it eventually catches up with me. Wanna see me get really uncomfortable really fast? Surround me with people I don't know, expect me to socialize, then abandon me. It takes more than a name and a pitch to warm me up socially. That "mean" or "angry" look on my face is more than likely extreme discomfort.

Social media allow me to control the pace and intensity of social interaction. They don't supplant my need for face-to-face conversation and meatspace relationships. They're simply a way for me to be social in a way that's not as taxing for me.

Which brings me to this blog and EclectiCopy. What would I like to see more of? How can I encourage that?

Honestly, I would like to see more proof that people are listening. I get comments every so often from my hardcore followers, but if they were the only people I wanted to hear from, I would e-mail them and be done with it. I post here because I want to connect with other people through mutual engagement. As you may (or may not) know, I despise debate when it comes to things that really matter insofar as it's about interpersonal relationships (as opposed to changes in policy - which is definitely worth a thorough hashing-out). But I'm always open to engagement. Fuck, the whole of Tulpa, or Anne&Me is engagement.

How do you prove you're listening? Obviously, leaving thoughtful comments is always welcome, as is writing thoughtful blog posts in response to something I said. Don't forget Twitter! As someone who lurks a lot, that's something I do pretty regularly when I don't have anything to add but still want people to know about it. If you come across a conversation where something I wrote seems relevant, post a link.

But if you want to interview me after I've been shanked by an Anne Hathaway fan, I am available via e-mail and Google chat.

(When you link to one of my blog posts, use the Create A Link function because Blogger doesn't like to leave me trackbacks for some reason)